


For He Would Be Thinking of Love

by hogwartswitch



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, First Meetings, First Time, Frottage, Gun Violence, Horses, Hurt/Comfort, Johnlock Roulette, Kidnapping, Kissing, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Old West, Orgasm, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Sheriff John, Teacher Sherlock, Violence, Weddings, Western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-03-26 00:50:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 37,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3831007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hogwartswitch/pseuds/hogwartswitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Discharged from the United States Army after being shot in the shoulder, Captain John Watson finds himself on a train Westward to Big Sky Montana country in the late 1800s. He settles in Lockwood, a small Western community in need of a Sheriff. There he meets schoolteacher Sherlock Holmes, who makes him question the very essence of who he is. Along the way, he also faces the conflicts of life in the old West.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lockwood

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks/blame for this fic goes to [ImRisah](http://imrisah.tumblr.com/) for her brilliant Western!Lock comics and art that she draws. I fell in love with them so much (and already love old West settings as it is) that I had to try my hand at writing this Johnlock AU. 
> 
> Lockwood, Montana is a creation entirely my own, though it's (extremely loosely) based on Thompson Falls, Montana. Any errors in geography, climate, etc., are mine.
> 
> I'm making an attempt to achieve at least a small amount of historical accuracy, but as I'm operating mainly off of a spotty history of watching Western movies and reading romance novels set in the old West, I'm going to apologize in advance for any terrible mistakes. Hopefully the eventual old-timey Johnlock smut will make up for any gaffes on my part ;)
> 
> If you enjoy this work, please check out some of my others and don't forget to leave kudos or comments! Thank you for reading! :D

_And then, "I am old enough";  
Wherefore I threw a penny  
To find out if I might love.  
"Go and love, go and love, young man,  
If the lady be young and fair."  
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,  
I am looped in the loops of her hair.  
O love is the crooked thing,  
There is nobody wise enough  
To find out all that is in it,  
For he would be thinking of love  
Till the stars had run away  
And the shadows eaten the moon.  
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,  
One cannot begin it too soon._  
\- **William Butler Yeats** , _Brown Penny_

Late afternoon sunlight slanted through the branches of Ponderosa pines dotting the sides of the mountain as the Montana Rail train chugged around a curve. It emerged from a copse of trees to overlook the shining surface of a placid lake, a Cormorant lazily floating in the middle, occasionally ducking its head under water.

John Watson watched the scenery pass as the train carried him closer to his destination. He rested back on the bench in his compartment, his booted feet crossed, running a hand over his blonde mustache as he thought about the circumstances that brought him here. Beside him was the telegram that had arrived not more than a fortnight before, detailing his travel arrangements to Lockwood, where he would start his new life and career.

The United States Army had been his home for as long as John could remember. He'd joined to escape a drunken father and a house with too many mouths to feed at age fifteen. He'd lied about his age and the Army had needed men badly enough that they'd taken in the scrawny, blonde youth with no questions. John learned to survive in the Army because there had been no other option. Now, though still shorter than average, John was all lean muscle and strong resolve. A bullet through his shoulder had ended his Army career, leaving him floundering with nowhere to go. The news of a town in Northwest Montana in need of a sheriff had come just before the bill collectors hauled him away and John had grasped at the opportunity. Though his shoulder still pained him whenever the weather turned, he remained a crack shot and still possessed the iron will that had made him an asset to the Army. Promised a modest cabin and a reasonable wage to keep law and order in the town of Lockwood, John sold most of his belongings and packed a bag to venture Westward into the unknown wilderness.

He'd also left behind a complicated situation with a friend that was best left in the past. John had met James during his recovery from the shooting and they'd fallen into something more than friendship that John wasn't quite comfortable acknowledging just yet. Best to forget it, to file it away, and never think of the nights they spent together.

Lockwood was nestled in a valley, hidden away from view until right at the moment the train rounded a bend off a high bridge and descended into a mountain tunnel. The bustling Western town straddled the line of civilization and the lawless West, rising up amongst the homesteaders and the mining camps to establish its community.

John observed his new home, growing closer, with serious eyes. He sat up and gathered his things, placing his black cowboy hat back on his head and shrugging into the black, thigh-length coat he'd placed beside him on the bench. The train puffed into the station, slowing to a stop and John could hear passengers emerging from compartments to leave. He rose and retrieved his bag, then exited the compartment and joined the flow of passengers.

The train station sat at the outskirts of Lockwood, funneling the arrivals onto main street, which was lined with the standard shops you'd find in any small town. A horse-drawn buggy ambled up the dusty main street and John could see people milling the sidewalks outside the general store as he stepped off the train.

No one was meeting him at the station; the telegram he'd received gave directions to meet with the mayor of Lockwood in his offices near the sheriff's premises where John would ultimately work. Consulting the scrap of paper, John asked the ticket agent for directions and then ambled off towards Main Street.

It was spring in Montana and the air was pleasant and warm. John inhaled the fresh air and smiled as he walked, observing the comings and goings in town. He tipped his hat and smiled a greeting to a woman passing by and she returned the smile, bobbing her head and continuing on her way.

The Mayor's office was at the north end of Main Street, in a modest, but distinguished, brick building. John ascended the stairs and let himself in through the door. He removed his hat once he was inside and stumped into the office. An older woman, graying hair in a bun, glanced up from her dusting and smiled.

"Good day, sir." She said, brushing the front of her blue gingham dress. "May I help you?"

John nodded. "Good day to you, ma'am. I'm Captain John Watson, here to see the Mayor?"

"Oh, yes! He's expecting you! I'm Mrs. Hudson; I help around the office, do a little cleaning. I'll let him know you're here."

"Thank you, kindly."

Mrs. Hudson disappeared through a door and John wandered over to the window to look out onto the street. He could see his reflection in the panes of glass and noted how tired he looked. He'd lost weight and muscle during his recovery from being shot and the stresses of life afterwards had compounded those effects. He hoped a new career and life that featured plenty of fresh air and sunlight would return his old vim and vigor, help him regain the strength he'd lost in the days after his departure from the Army.

"Captain Watson, I do hope your trip was uneventful?"

John turned around and came face to face with Mayor Mycroft Holmes. The man was tall and slim, with a sharp nose and a ginger mustache, closely trimmed in a horseshoe shape that extended down the sides of his chin. His equally ginger hair was sparse on the top of his head, but combed neatly. He wore a well-fitted black suit over black trousers. Underneath his suit jacket was a silver waistcoat swirled with embroidery details. A black Western bow tie was fastened at his neck. Shiny black lace-up boots completed his outfit, all of which gave him a distinguished air.

John straightened his back and stuck his hand out. "Mayor Holmes, sir, it's an honor to meet you."

Mycroft pumped John's hand up and down several times. "I'm sure you are tired from your trip. I have some paperwork for you to sign in my office and then I shall show you where you'll work. After that, I can arrange for transportation to your living quarters."

John followed Mycroft into his office and they quickly took care of the required paperwork. The Mayor withdrew a shiny gold Sheriff's badge and passed it to John, and then took out a gun and ammunition. John held up his hand.

"If it's all the same, sir, I brought my own Colt revolver and would prefer to use that." John tucked the badge in an inside pocket of his jacket for the time being.

Mycroft nodded and put the gun away. "Perfectly acceptable."

The last thing the Mayor passed over was a set of keys to the Sheriff's office next door. "There's the key to the front and back doors, as well as the keys to the cell inside. For now I don't think you'll have need for a deputy as you'll find our town is fairly civilized. However, we are growing and if you find yourself in need of help, please let me know immediately."

"What about a horse, sir? Won't I need a horse?"

"Indeed. I own a ranch not too far out of town. I thought you might come to dinner tonight and look at my horses. I believe one of them will be suitable for your needs."

"I'd be honored to dine with you and your family." John replied.

"I'm afraid it's just myself and my brother - our parents passed away several years ago. My brother is... shall we say unique? I do not know if he will join us. But you'll meet my staff and I'll show you around the ranch. Now, shall we go take a look at your working quarters?"

The Sheriff's office was a small, one-room building with a desk in one corner and a small jail cell in the other. Several sets of file drawers lined the wall across from the desk. A small, pot-bellied stove sat in the middle of the room for use during the cold winters. John walked around the office, nodding his head.

"Yes, this should serve just fine." He said. "And my living quarters? You wrote of a cabin?"

"A small cabin, not too far from my ranch. It's a 15-minute carriage ride from here. Shall we go?"

A black, horse-drawn carriage had been summoned and John and Mycroft rode in companionable silence to a short distance outside the city limits. The log cabin was small, but sturdy, made of reddish-colored logs and sat in an area of scrub brush and pine trees. Through the trees, John glimpsed the shining surface of a small pond. A stack of firewood leaned against one side of the cabin. Inside, the one-room cabin held a wooden table and chairs, several wooden cupboards for storing linens and clothes, a large stone fireplace with a hook to hold a cooking pot, and a pole bed covered in a faded patchwork quilt. A rocking chair sat in the corner at the end of the bed.

"I've arranged an account for you at the general store." Mycroft said. "They'll set you up with some necessities to start with. Lanterns, oil, and other staples. As part of your pay, I would like to offer food from my ranch - we have plenty of eggs and fresh milk to spare, as well as food from our gardens. Anything else can be found at the general store, of course, though you'll be responsible for purchasing your own goods after your initial set-up."

"Of course, that's incredibly generous of you."

"I won't lie, Captain Watson. The isolation of the West, as well as our harsh winters, has made it rather difficult to keep lawmen employed in Lockwood. If I can offer a modicum of comfort, I shall, if only to keep you pleased with your surroundings."

John nodded. "I thank you, sir. My life in the Army was never very glamorous, so I'm sure this will be fine."

Behind the cabin, through the back door, John found an outhouse and a small paddock and barn where he could keep his horse. A modest collection of tools hung on one wall of the barn, as well as a spare horse trough that John thought he might utilize as a bathtub when washing time came. Set at an angle from the ground outside the cabin were doors that led to a root cellar. John surveyed everything while nodding, a pleased smile crossing his face.

"This will do nicely, sir."

"We hope to make you comfortable. You are, of course, welcome at Holmes' Ranch at any time and I hope you'll let me know if you need anything."

John marveled at his luck, that he should have found someplace so accommodating to his comfort. Though the pay was relatively low, the living quarters and support from the Mayor would more than make up for that. Mycroft withdrew a silver pocket watch from his waistcoat and flicked open the lid.

"Now, shall we repair to my ranch so that we may choose your horse before dinner?"

They returned to Mycroft's carriage, which took them down a winding lane to a large set of gates leading up to a sprawling ranch house and property. John whistled in awe as he took in the large expanse of land.

"Impressive set-up you have here, sir." He murmured.

"It's been in the family for years." Mycroft answered, smiling smugly. "We're proud of the legacy and quite a lot of the food and livestock raised here goes to benefit the town."

The carriage dropped them in front of the ranch house and Mycroft led John to the horse corrals. He showed John four horses - a stallion and three mares - as his options. After examining all four, John chose a Blue Roan mare, her coat stippled with black. Her soft, dark eyes turned to John and she whickered softly, pressing her velvet nose into his palm. Mycroft instructed the men working in the corrals to outfit John with a saddle and reins.

"Does she have a name?" John asked.

"I believe my brother named this one. What did he choose, Jennings?"

The man choosing John's saddle looked over. "Azure, sir."

Mycroft smiled tightly. "As I said, my brother is rather eccentric. You're welcome to change the name if you choose."

"Azure." John murmured, stroking the mare's black mane. "I think that will do nicely."

"I'm glad we have that settled, then." Mycroft said, leaning back on his heels. "We'll arrange for hay and feed to be delivered to you regularly. Shall we go inside? I believe dinner will be served quite soon."

John's stomach growled insistently at the mention of dinner and he followed Mycroft inside the ranch house and into the large dining room. They were served plates of thick cut pork chops, fresh corn, and mashed potatoes with rivulets of rich gravy dripping down the sides. Chilled glasses of lemonade accompanied the meal. John, finding he was hungrier than he'd realized, ate in silence, savoring the first home cooking he'd enjoyed in years.

A commotion at the dining room caused John to look up in time to see a young man with raven black hair clatter into the dining room. He was tall and thin with fine-boned, pale features. Brilliant blue eyes above sharp cheekbones stood out against his porcelain skin. His black curls were slightly too long and flopped over his forehead. He wore a black double-breasted frockcoat that flared slightly at his waist and fell to mid-thigh. Beneath that, a deep blue waistcoat, and a white shirt with a small, ruffled cravat. His trousers were black, as well, and fitted, and he wore slim, black lace-up boots. His long-fingered hands waved manically in the air as he stormed into the dining room in a flurry of words.

"I know, I know. I'm late! You'll never guess what species of bird I saw at the pond, Mycroft. I--"

The young man stopped when he noticed John, his eyes growing side and his mouth snapping shut.

"I believe I told you our new sheriff was dining with us tonight, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked, his eyebrow arched and his face disapproving."

"I-I do apologize." The young man - Sherlock - bowed his head to John. "Had I known we had company, I wouldn't have burst in so suddenly."

"Quite all right." John dabbed at his mouth with a cloth napkin. "I'm Captain John Watson. Or rather, I suppose I'm now Sheriff John Watson."

"This is my brother, Sherlock." Mycroft inserted. "He's the schoolteacher at our little schoolhouse, aren't you, Sherlock?"

Sherlock nodded mutely and sat down in a chair across from John. A dinner plate was soon placed in front of him and he began to eat quietly.

"You like to watch birds?" John asked, curiously.

Sherlock, barely able to meet his face, nodded and muttered into his plate. "I like all manner of wildlife. I study it in my spare time."

"My brother fancies himself a naturalist, John. Waste of time if you ask me." Mycroft grumbled.

"I saw a Cormorant on my way here." John said, trying to make eye contact with Mycroft's brother. "It was floating on one of the lakes we passed. I'm not used to seeing so much wildlife."

"Oh, you'll see a lot more than that!" Sherlock eagerly launched into a description of the various flora and fauna he'd cataloged around the area, his words jumbling together in his excitement.

"That's quite enough, Sherlock!" Mycroft snapped. "You're putting me off my dinner."

"Of course." Sherlock returned to staring at his plate and pushing his food around. "Apologies, Sheriff Watson."

"Not at all, I find that sort of thing interesting." John said, feeling a pang of sympathy for the young man.

Dinner was finished in relative silence. The sun outside dipped low in the horizon and soon John scooted his chair back.

"I should probably get back before dark." He said. "Mayor Holmes, Sherlock, it was a pleasure dining with you. I thank you kindly for the hospitality."

"Not at all, not at all." Boomed Mycroft in a jolly voice. "As I said before, you're welcome here at any time. Sherlock, would you mind showing Sheriff Watson out? I'd like to retire to my study to finish some paperwork."

Sherlock nodded and rose. "This way, Sheriff Watson."

John followed Sherlock out the front door of the ranch house, where the Blue Roan waited. John watched Sherlock closely and noted his face fall at the sight of the mare.

"Oh." Sherlock said flatly. "You're taking _her_."

"Is that all right?" John asked curiously.

Sherlock turned his head away, swallowing audibly. "If my brother gave her to you, then he means for you to have her."

"I can choose another horse, if this one is yours."

"She's not mine." Sherlock stared at his hands and spoke softly. "I don't ride."

"Your brother said you named her. Azure?"

"Yes, that's her name. I like to visit with the horses sometimes."

"Sherlock." John stepped closer and ducked low to try to meet Sherlock's eyes. "Are you sure it's all right if I take her?"

Sherlock chewed on his lip indecisively. "Will you care for her?"

"Yes, of course. I'll treat her as well as I treat myself. And you're welcome to come visit her if you'd like. My cabin's just up the road."

Sherlock's head came up at the offer and he met John's gaze. The air between them snapped and fizzled with electricity and John found himself short of breath and he was lost in the stare.

"Really?" Sherlock asked quietly. "Why would you do that?"

Pausing to collect himself, John shrugged. "We seem to have an appreciation of the land around us in common. No sense in us being enemies, is there?"

Sherlock shook his head, still staring. "Th-thank you, then. I may take you up on the offer."

"I hope you will." John placed his foot in the stirrup and mounted Azure, settling himself securely in the saddle. "Good evening, Sherlock."

John swept his hat back onto his head and tipped it at Sherlock before nudging the mare with his feet and setting her to a slow canter.

Sherlock stood outside, watching them leave, until John and the Blue Roan mare disappeared around the curve leading to the cabin.


	2. A New Sheriff in Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John spends his first day as Sheriff exploring Lockwood and learning the lay of the land.

A blue-bottle fly had found its way into the cabin. It buzzed lazily around in circles over John's bed, as spring flies seem to do. It was the buzzing that raised him from sleep, consciousness seeping in as slow as the fly's circling above his head. 

In the distance, from the direction of the Holmes' ranch, John heard a rooster crowing in the dawn. He squinted his eyes open, focusing on the fly circling above him. Pale rays of sunlight filtered through the uncovered windows of the cabin, growing brighter as the sun peeked above the mountains. John sat up and scrubbed a hand over his whiskery face. The day stretched ahead of him, full of tasks to complete. A trip to the general store was in order, as well as his first patrol around town to get a feel for Lockwood and its citizens. Knowing he shouldn't tarry, John rose, stretching the ache of his long train ride from his bones. He pulled at the sagging bottoms of his long, cotton underwear and shuffled out to the porch. A water pump stood just off of the porch and John filled a bowl with a few pumps of the handle. Returning to the cabin, he pulled out his shaving kit and lathered his face with soap. Deftly wielding the straight razor, he scraped the stubble off his cheeks and trimmed around his mustache. John finished and rinsed the remains of soap off his face, splashing the cold water over his hair and using an old rag to wash the sweat of the day before off his body. Satisfied, he ran a comb through his still-wet hair and turned to the clothes he'd laid out the night before.

His daily uniform would now consist of high-waisted, black canvas trousers and an ivory, long-sleeved shirt with a banded collar. Over that, he wore a simple black waistcoat; John pinned the sheriff's badge Mycroft had given him at the waistcoat's breast, then fastened a red neckerchief around his neck to help keep the sun off his skin. He finished by buckling his gun belt around his waist and pulling on the woolen stockings, black leather boots and black canvas duster he'd invested in before making his trip West. Looking at himself in the wavy, foggy mirror mounted to the wall above his dresser, John wondered how long it would take him to look like he wasn't just pretending to be Sheriff.  
Turning to leave, John snagged his hat. It was still new, a silver-gray made of beaver fur-felt and trimmed with a black cord. The brim was just large enough to shield John's eyes from the bright sunlight and when he wore it, he felt like a cowboy. John ran his fingers of the velvet surface of the hat and memories came rushing in of the day he'd been given it as a gift.

_"When do you leave?" James's lips were pressed into a thin line as he stared seriously at John while he leaned against the kitchen table in the tenement where they lived._

_"Next week." John answered cautiously. "I've got a few things to purchase before I leave."_

_James nodded, staying quiet._

_"I'll write." John offered, needing to break the silence._

_"It won't be the same." James answered wistfully._

_"It can't be the same."_

_"I know."_

_John wanted to cover James's hands with his and assure him that they were fine, promise that he wouldn't leave, kiss away the sorrow that lingered at the corners of his mouth. But he straightened his back and pushed down those emotions. What he shared here could never continue and the only solution John could see was to leave._

_"I brought you a gift."_

_John was broken from his reverie by James's soft proclamation. "Pardon?"_

_Instead of repeating himself, James disappeared into their shared bedroom and emerged with a box. He placed it reverently in John's arms and stepped back, looking at him expectantly._

_"You shouldn't have bought me anything." John grumbled, his cheeks growing warm. He pulled the top off the box to reveal a silvery gray hat, just like he imagined all cowboys wore. He stroked the soft brim and let out a breathy "Oooh."_

_"You have to look like a Sheriff." James mumbled. "And it's hot in the summer. It'll keep the sun out of your face."_

_"It's perfect." John turned his eyes up to James and swallowed back the lump of emotion that had formed in his throat. "Thank you."_

_"The color reminds me of your eyes when you look at me in bed." James whispered, trying one last time to lure John back to him._

_John replaced the lid on the box. "I'll think of you when I wear it."_

_"So you're still going?" James's shoulders slumped in defeat._

_"You know I have to."_

Mouth twisting into something between a smile and a grimace, John blinked away the sting of unshed tears as he stroked the hat's brim once more. Sniffing loudly, he fixed the hat on his head and, taking a deep breath, swept out the door.

Azure was alert and ready in her paddock and she whickered gently at John as he entered the barn. He let her nudge her smooth nose into his palm as she pawed at the ground.

"Ready to ride, girl?" He soothed, brushing his hand over her silky mane.

Mycroft had sent over some hay and feed shortly after John had left the ranch and he now dumped a small amount of grain into her trough while draped a saddle blanket across her back and fastened the saddle securely around her middle. He waited for her to finish eating and drink some water before putting on her bridle and attaching reins. Azure followed John easily as he led her out of the paddock and into the yard. He mounted her easily and nudged her forward. She shook her head once, then cantered towards town.

John tied Azure to the post outside the sheriff's office and sauntered down to the general store. He tipped his hat to a few citizens milling around and they greeted him with openly curious stares, their gazes drawn to the gold star at his chest.

A bell above the door tinkled as he entered the dark interior of the store. A young woman with her red hair up in a braided bun emerged from the back and smile.

"Good afternoon, sir! What can I help you with?"

"Ma'am." John nodded a greeting. "Name's John Watson, I'm the new sheriff in town. Mayor Holmes told me he set up an account in my name, to get some essentials to set up my cabin?"

"Oh, of course." The woman beamed. "I'm Sarah Sawyer. My father owns the store, but I help him with the daily running of things. Do you have a list?"

John fished out the crumpled piece of paper he'd scribbled a list of things he'd need and slid it across the counter. Sarah took it from him and soon had the counter piled with items - a lantern, oil, matches, and a cast iron skillet among the many purchases.

"Would there be a way to have these things delivered to my cabin?" John wondered as Sarah tallied up his total to apply to his account. "I'm just outside town."

"Yes, I think we can arrange that." Sarah smiled warmly at him. "My father has a carriage and would gladly run these by for you this evening."

"I thank you, kindly, Miss Sawyer." John said, returning her smile.

Sarah gazed up at him through her lashes and her smile broadened. "My father and I would be delighted to have you for dinner one of these evenings, after you've settled in, of course."

John's stomach flipped as he realized the young woman was flirting with him. He blushed to the roots of his hair and cleared his throat. "I, uh... well, that sounds just fine, ma'am."

"All right, I've got everything recorded on your account, if you'll just sign here." Sarah slid a receipt across the counter to John.

John scrawled his signature and offered another smile. "Thanks for your help, Miss Sawyer."

"I'm sure I'll be seeing you around, Sheriff Watson." Sarah trilled, waving as he left the store.

John walked back to the sheriff's office, thinking about the conversation that had just taken place. He knew he'd be expected to eventually establish a family in Lockwood. _Surely it won't be so hard._ He thought to himself. _Time to fall in line and do your duty, Johnny-boy._

The weight of his choices weighed heavy on his shoulders as he returned to his office. John pulled a few rolled up maps from one of the cabinets and spread them out on his desk. He quickly planned a route around Lockwood and then returned to Azure, who was waiting for him.

"Let's introduce ourselves to Lockwood." He said, climbing on her back and urging her into a walk.

Sherlock held the letter Mycroft handed him that morning. The creamy paper felt heavy and smooth beneath his fingers. His address was scrawled across the envelope in swirling penmanship. He'd waited for an answer to his last note well over a month and now he grew nervous to read it. Sherlock glanced up at his students, heads bent over slates as they worked quietly. He worked a finger under the flap of the envelope and peeled it open, removing the folded paper inside.

_Miss Molly Hooper  
Boston, Massachusetts_

_My dearest Sherlock,_

_I pray that this letter finds you well and thank you for your last missive. The way you paint pictures in my mind with your words is positively delightful! I can almost picture your little lake and the birds that visit you there. How I wish I was by your side to see it all myself._

_My days are much the same as always, which is to say they are dull! I envy you your gender, that you are allowed to have adventures and explore the world and work! I am expected to stay inside and work on my embroidery and stay sweet for my future husband._

_Regarding your confession to me, I suppose that I am meant to be shocked or scandalized. Perhaps, even, angry. The truth is, my dear Sherlock, I think I have always known that you have felt that way. I thank you, though, for trusting me with your secret._

_I'm sure you know that it is a difficult life you've chosen, one that cannot be lived publicly. I am prepared to continue honoring our betrothal and our families' agreement if you would have me. I am, after all, your friend above all else. I have no interest in being tied to a husband who expects me to be the sweet homemaker and I do not see a future for myself that includes true love. What better future is there than to live by the side of my dear friend, having adventures in the untamed West?_

_Do think about it, my friend. Would it be so hard to pretend fondness for me?_

_Yours, always,  
Molly_

Sherlock refolded the letter and closed his eyes, a mixture of relief and gratitude washing over him. He contemplated Molly's proposal, but before he could spend any time ruminating on it, his students began to stir and murmur. Tucking the letter away for later, he rose and continued the day's lessons.

The land surrounding Lockwood was rich with life; mountains in the distance turned to rolling hills and valleys, all covered with grass and trees. The sky stretched above in a vast, inverted bowl of clouds and vivid blue, a stark contrast to the browns and greens of the land. Lakes and rivers lay tucked away in clearings and John found the forests teeming with wildlife. He rode past a field of Bison feasting on grass and stopped to watch a pair of cranes perform a dance upon the surface of one of the lakes.

He'd ridden the length of town by early afternoon, stopping to chat with passers-by and get an idea of the sentiment in town. Most citizens seemed pleased with their new sheriff and eager to welcome him. John wondered how long that would last, but chose to accept their friendliness as a gift.

The landscape around Lockwood was dotted with farms and homesteads, sometimes separated by miles of wilderness in between. John guided Azure around rocks and outcroppings carefully, preferring to take his first day slowly and not push his steed too hard.

The late afternoon light was beginning to wane when he found he'd traveled full circle and was just outside of the Holmes' ranch. John glanced through a copse of trees and spotted a lake as he rode by. He slowed and dismounted, leading Azure to the lake and allowing her to drink. He bent and splashed some water on his face, which felt warmed by the sun and slightly gritty from a day riding.

The snap of a branch caused him to look up and he spotted the raven-black curls of Mycroft's brother, Sherlock, his head bent over a small book that he was scribbling furiously at. John held his breath, not wanting to startle the man, and watched. His slim body was hunched over the notebook and his concentration was so great that he didn't look up, even at Azure's quiet snort as she stepped away from the lake. John studied Sherlock's lanky form; he rested at the base of a tree, his black-clad legs folded under him. He'd discarded his frock coat and waistcoat nearby and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbow, revealing a slim forearm. Now he reached up and pushed an errant curl behind his ear, exposing the smooth expanse of milky skin that was his neck. John felt his chest grow warm as visions of pressing his face at that spot of Sherlock's neck entered his mind. He shook his head quickly and stood up, backing away quietly. He mustn't go down that road again. John took Azure's reins and pulled her away, clambering back up and urging her into a trot before Sherlock noticed his voyeurism.


	3. Barn-Raising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John encounters trouble on the job and participates in a community gathering.

The first couple of weeks of John's new post as sheriff of Lockwood proved quiet, if not downright boring. He divided his days between patrols on horseback and setting up his office. He began to wonder if the tales he'd heard of the lawless West had been but fables meant to keep the meek and mild in their safe homes to the East.

He wasn't allowed complacency for long and the first signs of trouble appeared on patrol one afternoon. The air was thick with humidity and the clouds overhead held the promise of a spring thunderstorm. John rode Azure along the ridge of land just outside the Holmes ranch, occasionally stopping to use his field glasses to survey the plains stretching out beyond the borders of Lockwood. As he swung back, he spotted a tangle of barbed wire along the fence-line of the ranch. He nudged Azure forward, dismounting when they drew close to the fence. The wire had been snipped with some sort of tool, allowing someone access to the Holmes Ranch grazing pastures. As John examined the damaged fencing, a breeze blew towards him, carrying with it the stench of something rotting and dead. He gagged as the fetid smell invaded his nose and yanked the kerchief around his neck up over the lower half of his face. Standing up, John cast a searching gaze around him until he spotted the source of the smell.

The body of one of Mycroft Holmes's pregnant cows lay in the pasture, bloated with flies. Her death wasn't natural, but rather her stomach cut open with a sharp knife and the calf inside dragged out and left in the dirt, along with her entrails. John covered his mouth with his hand as he felt his gorge rise. His stomach attempted to expel the breakfast he'd eaten hours earlier, but he tamped it down by taking a few calming breaths downwind from the rotting corpse of the cow. After he'd calmed himself, John returned to take down any observations of the scene. He pulled a small notebook out of his back pocket, along with the stub of a pencil, to make notes. He judged by the smell and state of the cow that the body had been there for at least a couple of days. Long enough for blow flies and maggots to appear, but not long enough for the carcass to become unrecognizable. John took note of the Holmes brand on the cow's flank, the swirling H and R flowing into each other. He also noted how disturbed the dirt around the carcass was, as though there had been more than one person committing the crime. The elements of nature took care of any visible footprints and John resigned himself to not finding anything useful in his observations. He moved to re-mount Azure, when he spotted something among the grass near the cow. Bending over, he retrieved the burnt stub of a cigarillo, slightly crushed, from a tuft of grass. John turned it in his fingers, examining it, then tucked it into his pocket. It didn't tell him anything about the killer's identity, but he wouldn't leave any piece of evidence behind.

Before he left, John made sure he pushed the cut barbed wire together in a way that might keep any cows from escaping. Then he climbed on Azure and spurred her into a fast trot towards the main house on Holmes Ranch.

"We noticed the nightly count on the cattle was off." Mycroft observed, his mouth set in a stern line. "But none of my men were able to find the missing cow."

"I'm sorry to bring you such disturbing news." John said.

He stood in Mycroft's library, his hat gripped loosely in one hand as he faced the oversized mahogany desk behind which Mycroft sat.

"Not at all, you're doing your job." Mycroft said. "I trust you to track down the vicious thieves who did this and bring them to justice, of course."

"That's what I'm here for, sir." John said, nodding. "I just wanted to stop and let you know about it, so your men can get to fixing that damaged fence. I left the carcass out there as I couldn't pack it out on my horse. Unfortunately, it's too late to get any use out of it."

"Not to worry, Sheriff Watson. I'll send some men out to take care of everything. Thank you for stopping by."

As John turned to leave, Mycroft stopped him. "Wait, before you go... there's a barn-raising taking place this evening at the Thompson home. That's several miles east of here. Dinner and dancing afterwards. I'm sure the Thompsons, as well as all of Lockwood, would enjoy seeing their new sheriff attend.

John could tell this invitation was more of a command by the mayor. He nodded after only a few seconds of contemplation. "Well, now, that sounds mighty good to me. I'll see you this evening, then?"

"Good man, Sheriff Watson." Mycroft leaned back behind his desk, a smile stretching across his face.

John's discovery of the carcass was his moment of excitement in an otherwise normal day. While the incident was fresh in his mind, he wrote up a full report for his own records. The thunderclouds outside continued to gather and darken; John wondered to himself if the barn-raising would end in a deluge. Figuring his work clothes would suffice for the gathering, he dampened a spare kerchief from the water pump outside and wiped the dust of the day from his face. Returning his hat to his head, he made to climb on Azure, only to be stopped by Sarah Sawyer, who hurried his way. The hem of her flowered dress swept the boards of the walkway, creating tiny puffs of dust as she moved. A ruffled bonnet hid her red hair from view.

"Sheriff Watson! I'm glad I ran into you!" She beamed. "I was wondering if you'd been invited to the barn-raising at the Thompson's this evening?"

"I surely have." John smiled, finding Sarah's pleasant demeanor hard to rebuff. "I was just about to head that direction."

"Wonderful!" Sarah clapped her hands together and smiled even wider. "I shall see you there, then. I've been put in charge of the lemonade, so I'll be sure to save a glass for you!"

With another bright grin and a wave of her hand, Sarah swept back to the general store, where her father waited with their carriage. John watched them leave, then mounted Azure and ambled off after them.

In a sleepy town like Lockwood, a barn-raising was enough to bring out the whole populace, eager to exchange gossip with neighbors and partake in a shared feast afterwards.

John found himself stuck in with a crowd of men erecting supports for the walls. The air outside was humid and still, the oncoming thunderstorm making it hard to breathe. Women bustled around them, setting up tables laden with food. Chili and cornbread, roasts dripping with fat, boiled potatoes and vegetables, and a separate table with assorted cakes and pies created a feast for the eyes and nose. John felt his stomach gurgle as he worked up a sweat putting up the walls of the barn. He spotted Sarah among the women working at the food tables as she dished out glasses of lemonade to anyone who approached. She waved at John as their eyes met and he couldn't help but wave back.

He also caught the eye of Sherlock Holmes, who stood by Mycroft as they conversed nearby with some of the elderly council members of Lockwood. John felt Sherlock's gaze on him before he turned to look, the blue eyes boring into his back with intensity. Sherlock blushed and looked away when John met his eyes. John couldn't explain why his stomach did a flip when he saw Sherlock. The young man wore a deep blue shirt with a band collar and tan canvas pants held up by suspenders. A lighter blue kerchief was knotted around his neck and a black hat with a cattleman crease perched atop his dark curls. His shiny black lace-up shoes were dust-free, a sign that he'd not attended the barn-raising to work. John swallowed hard as he imagined Sherlock's lithe muscles working beneath the fabric of his shirt to help raise the walls of the barn. He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head, trying to banish the mental picture. A reprimand from one of the men beside him as his part of the wall almost slipped was enough to focus John's mind back on the task at hand.

Distant rumbles of thunder could be heard by the time they finished the barn. John mopped his brow and gratefully accepted a glass of lemonade from Sarah. He sipped at the cool, tart drink as he moved through the throngs of people milling around. He stopped several times to greet familiar faces and answer questions about his first weeks in Lockwood. While he talked with a grizzled farmer from the outskirts, Mycroft Holmes came up behind him and slapped him on the back.

"Good to see you here, John!" Mycroft said in a jolly tone. "It's nice to see our new sheriff getting to know his town."

"Happy to participate." John replied, smiling. He saw Sherlock hovering behind Mycroft, looking uncomfortable. "And how is your brother enjoying the evening?"

Sherlock's face turned pink at being acknowledged, but Mycroft turned and smiled tightly at his brother. "Sherlock, I'm afraid, wasn't able to help with the barn-raising. His constitution isn't as strong as some of the other men in Lockwood."

Blushing harder, Sherlock looked at his feet and muttered something so quiet, John couldn't make out the words. He looked between Mycroft and Sherlock, feeling rankled at the older man's treatment of his obviously shy brother.

"That's all right, isn't it?" John said, keeping his voice friendly. "There were plenty of people to help. Have you had some of the lemonade, Sherlock? It's quite good."

Sherlock glanced up at John, his gratitude at the change of subject clear. "I have not. I shall have to rectify that." He aimed a slightly wobbly smile at John and swept over to where Sarah still doled out glasses of lemonade.

"My brother is, I'm afraid, rather different from most men in this part of the country." Mycroft said. "I questioned whether he would survive in a place like this, but I did not feel comfortable leaving him to fend for himself in the city alone."

"Well." John wanted to keep his working relationship with Mycroft a friendly one, but he felt his hackles raise when Mycroft spoke about how different Sherlock was. "He seems to hold his own, doesn't he?"

"Perhaps." Mycroft mused, his sharp eyes still trained on Sherlock's back. "Ah well, I see a few people I must greet. Enjoy the evening, John."

Relieved he was away from Mycroft's company, John drifted closer to Sherlock. He raised his glass of lemonade in a toast of greeting and offered a friendly smile to the young man.

"Azure's doing well, if you were wondering." John said, picking a subject he felt comfortable discussing. "She's the easiest horse I've ever worked with."

"I'm glad." Sherlock's voice was deep and smooth, like rich, buttery leather. "I used to help care for her, when I wasn't teaching. I miss her."

"You know you can come visit any time." John said. "It's no bother. The paddock is behind my cabin, but there's a gate into the yard, so you can go in without going through the cabin."

"I'll remember that." Sherlock allowed a small smile to touch the corners of his mouth. "I just don't want to be a bother."

"No bother. I wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it." John watched Sherlock intently for a few moments.

"How are you enjoying your time in Lockwood?" Sherlock asked, obviously emboldened by John's friendliness.

"It's good." John said quickly. "I like the people I've met so far and the work is enjoyable. Did your brother tell you about the cow I found this morning?"

Sherlock nodded. "Terrible. I hope you'll be able to bring whomever did it to justice."

"You spend a lot of time outdoors, don't you? When you're not teaching? Have you noticed anyone strange nearby?"

"How did you know I spend time outdoors?" Sherlock's eyes sharpened and became guarded.

"I-I saw you, one day. Near the lake." John realized he'd overstepped as Sherlock closed off from him. "I just... I didn't stay for long, I just noticed you sketching something."

Sherlock nodded stiffly. "I enjoy observing nature. But I'm afraid I haven't noticed anything unusual."

John rocked back on his heels, trying to figure out how to return the conversation to its earlier ease. Before he could, however, Sarah approached.

"John! They're about to start the music! Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?" She asked, head held high as she flicked a disinterested gaze at Sherlock.

"Oh! Um, sure." John looked around and set his glass on the edge of a food table. "Good evening, Sherlock. Nice talking with you."

A few party-goers were unpacking instruments and tuning them. John gaped as Sherlock joined them, taking a fiddle out of a battered case. Soon the merry strains of music filled the air and John found himself dancing with Sarah. But he couldn't shake his interest in Sherlock as he watched him balance the fiddle on his shoulder and use those thin, graceful fingers to dance the bow across the strings. John's throat went dry as he imagined the same fingers fumbling at the buttons of his shirt.

"John? You okay?" Sarah's question brought John's mind back to the present. He must have stumbled to cause Sarah's concern.

"F-fine." John said shakily, trying to find the rhythm of the dance again. "Just tired, I think."

The party continued well into the night, lanterns being lit to illuminate the darkness. The thunderclouds over the mountains flashed with lightning, but the storm came no closer. John and Sarah danced several more times before John bowed out gracefully, allowing a younger, more eager man to take his place. Now he hovered at the edge of the dance floor, contemplating how to make a quiet exit. Mycroft was deep in a serious conversation with several of his cronies, his points being illustrated by a stabbing finger on his palm. John decided he would be safe to slip away unnoticed. As he approached where he'd tied Azure off, he discovered Sherlock standing next to his mare, running his hands over her mane and whispering softly to her. John slowed to a stop and leaned against a nearby tree, just watching Sherlock. When he was alone, Sherlock's demeanor relaxed, his limbs loosened. John lost himself in watching Sherlock and Azure, his eyes greedily taking in the way Sherlock's clothes clung to his body.

"Watching me again?" The voice, still soft, was just loud enough to reach John's ears.

John straightened, his face instantly turning red. "I, uh... I didn't mean... umm...."

Sherlock chuckled, but didn't turn away from Azure. "I suppose you want to leave."

"I did, but it's okay. I can go back to the party."

"No, don't." Sherlock said, turning his head a fraction to look at John. "I just wanted to say hello to her."

"She's special to you, isn't she?"

"She is."

"Why isn't she yours, then?"

"I don't ride, actually. And my brother would think it a waste for me to have a horse I didn't ride." Sherlock wound his fingers in Azure's mane again. "She is a good companion, though. She listens well."

"I'm sorry I took her from you, then." John said softly. "I know how important it is to have someone who will listen."

"Not your fault." Sherlock stepped back, untangling his fingers from Azure's hair. "But I appreciate your understanding. I think I _will_ take you up on your offer to visit her."

Sherlock turned to leave and, on impulse, John reached out and grabbed his hand. Sherlock's skin felt smooth and cool, delicate like a china teacup. His fingers flexed in surprise beneath John's calloused hand. John felt heat build in his stomach and he watched Sherlock.

"I hope you will." John said.

Sherlock's mouth opened slightly and John found himself fascinating with his pink lips, a perfect bow that complimented his delicate features. Though the moment lasted mere seconds, John felt like time slowed for him. He was aware of Sherlock's every breath, his heartbeat, the sweep of his lashes as he blinked his eyelids. Just as quickly as the moment began, it ended. John dropped Sherlock's hand and stepped away, towards Azure.

"You're welcome any time, like I said." John's voice was rough as he tried to quell the feelings coursing through him. "Good evening, Sherlock."

He climbed on Azure's back and squeezed his knees, urging her away. Though the darkness swallowed him up, he knew Sherlock stood behind, watching his back as he rode away. As he rode, the skies finally opened up and fat drops of rain hit the dry dust with a soft hiss. John urged Azure faster down the lane to his cabin, eager to escape the soaking that would surely come if he stayed out in the storm.


	4. Gone A'Courting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock continue their dance around each other and John accepts an invitation to Sunday dinner.

The rain continued into the next week, a lazy drizzle that left the roads muddy and coated everything at ankle-height with a layer of dirt. John discovered his cabin roof leaked the first night it rained and now he slept to the _tink-tink_ of raindrops filling the dented tin pans he scattered around to catch the leaks.

The rain made his daily patrols a miserable affair, hunched down in his coat, his hat tipped over his face. Azure proved capable in the bad weather , navigating the mud and damp without complaint. John spent extra time each night, wiping her coat free of any mud and running a brush through her mane. He'd grown excessively fond of his horse and he couldn't deny that part of the reason was because he saw the face of Sherlock Holmes in his mind's eye every time he looked at her.

John hadn't needed to dine at the Holmes' Ranch since the barn raising. His appearance - and his friendly attitude - seemingly engendered fondness for him in the wives and mothers of Lockwood. He had received home-cooked food almost every night, brought to him by smiling women who thanked him for protecting the town. John knew he couldn't count on these gifts to continue, but he'd decided to appreciate them all the same. He would be lying if he denied looking forward to returning to the Holmes' Ranch for another encounter with Sherlock. Though he admonished himself each time the fae, lithe young man flitted into his brain, he couldn't seem to stop thinking about the night of the barn-raising and the feel of Sherlock's soft hand in his own work-roughened one. He imagined what it would feel like, to have the skin of Sherlock's neck beneath his lips, to tangle his hands in those black curls. John cursed his wandering mind each night when these thoughts intruded. He refused to acknowledge the heat it brought to him, the ache between his legs. Instead, he tossed, sleepless, in his bed until exhaustion claimed him, the sunrise arriving too soon afterwards to signal the beginning of another day.

The invitation to attend church, followed by dinner with Sarah Sawyer and her father came on the first day without rain in over a week. It took the form of a handwritten note, slipped between the supplies John picked up at the general store. The promise of a roast beef dinner on Sunday proved too tempting for John to refuse, even though he knew Miss Sawyer's motives were far from innocent. How quickly his aim for a simple, country life became entangled with emotions and complications. John made a mental note to stop at the store and accept the offer and tucked the invitation in the pocket of his jeans. It would do no harm to dine with the Sawyers and keep his mind open to his options.

The clear, sunny skies and already-drying ground made John's patrol that morning easier than it had been all week. As the clock crept towards noon, John found himself without much to do. No more cattle mutilations had happened that week and the trail to finding the culprit of the original crime ran cold. Almost without thinking, John guided Azure to the little white building in town that served as the one-room schoolhouse. Because of the warmer weather, the door stood propped open to let in fresh air. John clambered from Azure's back and tied her loosely to the gate leading to the schoolhouse. He could hear the deep rumble of Sherlock's voice drift out to him from inside the building.

The schoolhouse was small inside and lined with worn benches filled with all ages of children. They clutched their slates as they paid attention to Sherlock, who faced the large chalkboard at the front of the classroom. He had shed his light gray jacket and maroon waistcoat, leaving them on his desk chair, and wore a loose white shirt and gray trousers held up by suspenders. John leaned against the doorway, trying to make no noise. His eyes instantly drew to the v-shaped thatch of curls at the nape of Sherlock's neck and he felt his breath hitch slightly. Perhaps this had been a mistake, but by now some of the children had noticed his presence and it was too late to leave.

Sherlock finished writing a series of equations on the chalkboard. With his back still turned, he stepped away. "Class, these are the equations I would like you to work on for the remainder of today. I'll be around to help anyone who needs it."

He turned and John saw he wore a small pair of spectacles perched on his nose, giving him a studious air he found intensely appealing. Sherlock's eyes immediately tracked to John and he stilled, eyebrows raising.

"Sheriff Watson?" Sherlock asked. "Is there a problem?"

"Not at all. I apologize for interrupting your class. I simply found myself with some free time and wanted to see what the schoolhouse looked like." John felt a brush creep over his cheeks as he struggled to find a good excuse for his appearance.

"Ah, well, I hope you find it to your liking, then." Sherlock replied. "Class, please say hello to our new sheriff."

A chorus of voices rose in greeting and John tipped his hat to the small faces turned his way. "I'll go now, leave you to your work. Good to see you, Mr. Holmes."

That he did not stumble and break his neck in his efforts to leave as quickly as possible was a miracle, John thought. He only stopped himself from taking off at a full run towards Azure because he didn't want to give away just how nervous Sherlock Holmes made him.

As he reached Azure and began untangling her reins, a voice called out behind him. "Sheriff Watson, a moment?"

John turned to find Sherlock striding towards him. In the sun, his curls flashed like raven's feathers and his eyes took on the same color as the clear sky. "Something the matter?"

"No, not at all." Sherlock said, drawing close to him. "I only wanted to see if you'd mind if I stopped by this evening and spent some time with Azure?"

"That would be fine," John replied, his heart thrumming at the idea of seeing Sherlock on his own. "I usually arrive about an hour and a half before sundown. Any time after that, she's all yours."

Sherlock allowed a small smile to play at his lips as he bent his head in gratitude. "Then I shall see you both this evening."

He returned to his classroom and John swung his leg up and over Azure, seating himself firmly on her back. He paused for a moment longer, listening to the voices resume inside the classroom. A smile stretched across his face, his eyes crinkling, as he savored the warm, happy feeling in his chest that kindled each time he stood near Sherlock Holmes.

_Sherlock Holmes_  
Lockwood, Montana

_Dear Molly,_

_Thank you for your last letter. You set my heart at ease, knowing that you do not feel ill will towards me at my confession. How lucky am I, to have a friend who looks past the defects of my nature? It is a rare thing, indeed, to not be met with prejudice. You ask if it would be so hard to pretend fondness for you; surely you realize that it would not be pretending at all! I do feel a great fondness for you! Just not in the way that I'm meant to. But I think, dearest Molly, who has known me since you were in braids and I still in short-pants, that we could very well make a life with each other, as long as we are of an understanding. I think it would be best if only you and I know of our arrangement. You know my brother disapproves of what he calls my "differences". I think, perhaps, his worry would ease if he thought I was happily married. He needn't know what happens behind closed doors._

_I'm writing today to tell you of our latest excitement here in Lockwood! Mycroft has hired a new sheriff for our growing town. He is the strong, silent type one would read about in dime novels. He cuts a dashing figure, despite his rather short stature. I haven't yet determined what sort of fellow he is, as he seems sparse with his words. Unfortunately, Mycroft gave him the use of Azure. I grew used to spending time with her in the stables, confessing all my woes to her willing ear. Sheriff Watson has invited me to visit her any time I wish, so I am going this evening. It won't be the same, but I appreciate his kindness._

_I must close this letter for now, my dear friend. Do write and tell me of your embroidery. No, I jest - I do not want to hear of your embroidery. But I hope you will write and tell me how you are doing and give me the news from home._

_All my best,  
Sherlock_

John marveled over the sunsets in Montana. He hadn't known how many colors could streak across the wide, open sky. It made his ride home enjoyable as he inhaled the fresh air, grateful not to still be breathing the polluted air of the city. As he drew around to the back of his cabin, heading towards the stables, he saw Sherlock leaning against the gate of the paddock. He'd removed his spectacles and donned his coat and waistcoat once more. Sherlock straightened and raised a hand in greeting as John rode up next to him.

"Good evening, Sheriff." He said, smiling and resting a hand against Azure's cheek. The horse nickered and nudged against the palm, obviously recognizing Sherlock.

"Were you waiting long? I got held up helping someone with a broken wagon wheel."

"Not long at all and it's not a bother to wait."

John slid off Azure's back and handed the reins to Sherlock. "She's all yours for the evening."

"Thank you." Sherlock's eyes glittered in the dimming sunlight. "You don't know how much I appreciate your generosity."

John found his eyes couldn't stop wandering to Sherlock's lips. They were a delicate shell-pink and drawn in a cupid's bow, the lower lip plump and enticing underneath the thinner upper lip. John had to remind himself not to stare; he swallowed and tried smiling, albeit shakily. He reached up and adjusted his hat until he found his voice again.

"I'll leave you, then. I need to get washed up and have my dinner."

John felt alternately relieved and disappointed to walk away from Sherlock. He found it hard to breathe or talk around the young teacher, as though his pull was so strong it robbed the air of oxygen. John worked diligently to clear his mind as he washed his face and hands at the water pump and went inside to eat. Afterwards, he lit lanterns around his cabin and idly wondered if Sherlock was still in the barn.

The stars were just coming out as John returned to the stable. The scent of fresh hay and horse feed assaulted his nose as he hovered around the entrance. Sherlock had lit a lantern inside and it cast a small glow around him as he stood near Azure, running a curry comb over her flank. The horse stood still, clearly enjoying the attention.

"He's taking good care of you." Sherlock said softly, speaking to Azure. "He's nice, isn't he?"

Azure chuffed and ducked her head to pull at the hank of hay in her trough.

"He's got nice eyes."

John froze in the doorway, feeling as though he'd intruded on a very intimate moment. Sherlock's body was highlighted by the lantern light, the flickering glow showing off his curves beneath the fold of clothing. The play of light across his Sherlock's skin reminded John of the way the sun set across the mountains, shadow and light undulating, leaving behind the day-warmed earth and the hush of nighttime.

"I think of him, sometimes." Sherlock leaned closer to Azure's face and John had to strain to hear the gentle whisper of words. "I think how he might feel beneath my fingers. How his hands would feel on my skin. I think I might die happily if only to have him touch me, open me up."

John's breath stole from his lungs, his throat dry and brittle. His eyes burned as hot as the tightly coiled desire in his belly. Suddenly, he felt wrong being there, felt he shouldn't listen to Sherlock's intimate confessions. As silently as possible, he pushed away from the doorway and walked swiftly to his back door. Sherlock's voice stopped him just as he was about to enter his cabin.

"Sheriff Watson?"

John turned and saw Sherlock hovering at the stable door. "Y-yes?"

His voice sounded odd, as though he no longer knew how to form words in the same way. He turned and ambled back to the stables, hoping Sherlock hadn't seen him fleeing.

"I've finished my visit and just wanted to bid you good evening." Sherlock's voice was soft and warm, like honey stirred into tea. "Thank you, again, for letting me visit."

"Of course. Visit any time, now that you know what time I'm home in the evening."

Sherlock reached out and grasped John's hand, causing the coil of heat at John's center to begin unraveling. "Thank you, Sheriff Watson."

John's throat worked as he tried to remember how to form words. All he could concentrate on was the soft brush of Sherlock's skin, his fingers tightening around John's hand, and the deep blue of his eyes as they stared at him. Those eyes could look into his soul and know all of his secrets, if he met his gaze for too long.

"P-please." John croaked and then cleared his throat and tried again. "Please, call me John."

Sherlock's smiles were another thing of beauty, so clearly genuine and rarely given. The smile that stole across his face now was gentle and pure, communicating the joy of proffered friendship. "All right. Then you must call me Sherlock. Thank you... John."

The sound of his name on Sherlock's lips left John weak at the knees. What would his name sound like, cried out in the throes of passion as John pressed a trail of hot kisses along Sherlock's jawline? He closed his eyes, nearly in pain at the picture his imagination painted. Sherlock, stretched out below him... _open me up...._

John had to bite back the moan that formed in his throat as Sherlock let go of his hand and turned to leave. As he reached the gate, he turned.

"You should join us this Sunday after church for dinner." Sherlock said. "We always have a great feast."

"Y-yes... I mean, no!" John cursed his luck. "I'm sorry, I already accepted an invitation to dine with Miss Sawyer and her father."

The light dimmed in Sherlock's eyes and he glanced at the ground, shyly. "Ah, well. You mustn't break promises, of course... and Miss Sawyer and her father are lovely people. Perhaps another time, then?"

"Perhaps." A dull ache of disappointment formed a lump in John's chest. "Good night, Sherlock."

"Good night, John."


	5. A Mind Divided

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds himself of two minds about Sherlock Holmes.

The rain returned in the night, the drops pelting the tin roof of John's cabin. In his dreams, the sound of rain became the distant explosions of guns. John crouched behind a rock, his back pressed to the stone as he reloaded his gun. The air around him was thick with dust and smoke, the metallic tang of burnt gunpowder tickled his nose. The crack of gunshot punctuated the screams of the natives the army battled. John's heart pounded painfully in his chest as his mind raced to catch up to the action. Time slowed around him as he chambered his rifle and eased around the rock. He'd barely lifted the rifle to his shoulder when the bullet tore through his shoulder, friendly fire gone awry. John knew only pain and the dizzy, fuzzy feeling as he fell towards the earth, blood pumping in his ears.

John jerked awake, his heart thumping. He clutched the patchwork quilt covering him, squeezing his hands so tightly his knuckles turned white. It took him a moment of deep breathing to calm down, to realize where he was. His old shoulder wound ached as he tried to flex his stiff muscles. John sat up, knowing he wouldn't be able to fall back to sleep. The sky outside was still an indigo blue, still had a spattering of stars winking in the pre-dawn stillness. John groaned, getting to his feet. He splashed cold water on his face outside and then returned inside to pull on his work clothes. A dull ache settled behind his eyes and a cloud of irritability hung over him. He groaned his way through shaving, his stiff shoulder making the task painful. Too out of sorts to boil water for coffee, John stumped to the stable to start his morning patrol a couple of hours early.

Azure was already awake and whinnied softly, pawing at the paddock door in excitement. John offered his first genuine smile of the day and took her saddle down from the wall. He paused after saddling her to rest his forehead against her velvety cheek. He climbed on the saddle and urged her out of the barn. In the distance, the birds were waking up and singing their morning song. John took his patrol slowly, since he had plenty of time to spare. He guided Azure over the now familiar ridges around Lockwood.

Mycroft Holmes' men were already out, herding cattle into a fresh pasture. John lifted a hand in greeting, stopping to chat with the men and check to make sure no more instances of cattle mutilation had happened without his knowledge. Assured that nothing unusual had happened, John tipped his hat and rode on. The sky now lightened to a dusky gray shot through with streaks of pink and orange. Azure approached the lake John tended to think of as "Sherlock's lake". As they drew closer, she did an odd shimmy of excitement. John had to squeeze his legs tightly to keep from being unseated and in the dim morning light, he realized what had his horse in fits.

Sherlock sat near the lake, his back turned to them. He wore a billowy white shirt, untucked, over leggings and he currently held a delicate pair of field glasses to his eyes. A leatherbound notebook lay open on his lap.

John thought to leave without saying anything, but Azure had other plans. She approached the lake, stepping on twigs and generally making a racket. Sherlock whipped his head around, his eyes widening in shock. When he saw Azure, he smiled. His eyes trailed up to John's and the smile softened to something more shy and closed. He lifted a hand in greeting.

"Good morning, Sheriff Watson. You're out early."

"I thought you were going to start calling me by my first name." John dismounted, smiling back at Sherlock.

Sherlock ducked his head as John moved around the small lake to stand in front of him. His cheeks colored pink and he looked up at John through his lashes. "Sorry, I forgot."

John bit his bottom lip as he looked Sherlock up and down. "What brings _you_ out this early?"

"My classes start in a few hours." Sherlock replied. "This is one of the few times of the day that I can be alone."

"Ah," John shuffled uncomfortably. "Of course. Well, I'll leave you, then, so you can enjoy your time to yourself."

"N-no!" Sherlock's eyes widened. "I didn't mean it that way. You can stay... I'd like you to stay. If you don't have to be somewhere else."

John shook his head. "No. My patrol can wait. I started early this morning, so I don't have to be anywhere quickly."

He stooped next to Sherlock and indicated the notebook, the pages of which were filled with line drawings. "What are you working on?"

John marveled at how easily Sherlock blushed and he wondered if Sherlock knew how fetching the flush of pink across his cheeks was. Sherlock offered the notebook to John shyly. One page held detailed drawings of plants, each part of the plant labeled in neat, meticulous handwriting. On the other page was a half-finished drawing of a falcon.

"I'm watching her with my field glasses." Sherlock indicated the falcon. "And trying to get her just right so I can show my students."

John flipped back through the notebook, noting the drawings of flora and fauna. Some were tinged with watercolors and all were labeled with scientific names and interesting notes. "This is fantastic!" He said, pausing at a full-page drawing of a horse that closely resembled Azure. "Amazing!"

The blushing continued and Sherlock smiled and said a quiet "Thank you."

"No, thank _you_." John insisted. "For showing me this. I needed something to brighten my morning."

"I noticed you looked stiff in Azure's saddle. Is something wrong?"

"It's nothing." John waved away Sherlock's concern. "Just a rough start to my day."

"I can tell." Sherlock impulsively reached out and brushed a finger over John's cheek, who felt like he'd received an electric jolt at the touch. "You missed a spot."

John lifted a hand to cover Sherlock's, feeling the rough stubble on the side of his face. "I... I did, didn't I?"

As if realizing what he'd just done, Sherlock snatched his hand back and turned away. "I apologize, that was inappropriate."

"No it... it was fine." John's shoulders sagged in disappointment, already missing Sherlock's touch. "I'm afraid my shoulder kept me from shaving as closely as I normally would."

Sherlock nodded. "You have a war wound in your shoulder."

"How do you know that? Did Mycroft tell you? It doesn't keep me from my work."

"No, he didn't tell me. I've noticed sometimes you hold your shoulder very stiffly, as if it pains you. You do it especially when it's about to rain. Which it is. We should get a real drencher this evening."

"So you know my shoulder pains me. How do you know it's a war wound?"

"Process of elimination." Sherlock said. "Your age, your station in life, and your bearing all tell me that you are a military man, even if my brother hadn't already told me that. There have been several battles over the last decade, mostly involving Indians and the Western expansion. If you're a military man, I can easily deduce that you've seen your share of battles."

"You really are brilliant, aren't you?" John breathed, his eyes sparkling.

"That's not what people normally say." Sherlock replied, meeting John's gaze steadily.

"What do they normally say?"

"They call me unnatural... a freak of nature. I do not have the usual interests of a young man living in the West. I am different and it scares them sometimes."

"Then they are small-minded fools." John snapped, feeling anger on Sherlock's behalf. "Because I think you're amazing."

John reached over and took Sherlock's hand. The young man's fingers stiffened at first, but then relaxed as John rubbed a thumb over his knuckles. Without questioning whether he should, John raised Sherlock's hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on the smooth skin on the back of his hand. "You should be told you're amazing every day, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock's throat worked as he swallowed audibly. His eyes took on a silver sheen as he watched John's lips. John let go of Sherlock's hand and stood up, dusting off his trousers.

"I... should go." John said. "It's almost daylight. Your classroom awaits, as does my patrol."

His words broke them both out of the moment and Sherlock nodded quickly, blinking a few times and looking away. "Of course. Thank you... John... for the conversation. Perhaps we will meet again one of these mornings."

"Perhaps." John threw his leg over Azure's back and pulled himself up. "Take care of yourself, Sherlock. I'm sure I'll see you again soon."

John's emotions warred with each other as he rode away. Half of him wanted to turn around and sweep Sherlock up in the saddle. He would carry him across the plains and they would go somewhere secluded. John thought of kissing Sherlock until he lay gasping beneath John, begging for more.

The other half of his emotions sent alarm bells ringing. _Don't do this again. Don't forget the lessons you learned with James. Walk away and don't look back._

John groaned to himself, pulling the brim of his hat over his eyes and letting his bad mood settle back around him as he continued on his patrol.

He stopped at one of the homesteads outside Lockwood at mid-day. The farmhouse had seen better days. John called out a hello to the blonde woman hanging damp clothing on a line strung across the front of the property.

"Good day, Mrs....?" John tipped his hat, approaching slowly.

A dark-haired child, far too thin, poked her head around the woman's legs. Round bruises ringed the child's wrist and John felt his hackles raise.

"Moran." The woman snapped, looking at John with hooded eyes. "Mrs. Mary Moran. And you are?"

"Sheriff John Watson. Just doing my patrol and wanted to stop and say hello, see if there's anything I can do for you."

Mrs. Moran looked John up and down, contempt written on her face. She nudged the child away from her. "Go back in the house with the others, Rebeccca. Go on!"

She accompanied her command with a sharp slap on the child's backside and the little girl ran to the house wailing. John glimpsed several more pairs of eyes staring out of the front door before Rebecca disappeared inside.

"Don't need anything from the law." Mary snapped. "We keep to ourselves and thank you kindly to do the same."

John nodded and backed away. "I can respect that, Mrs. Moran. Should you need anything, you can find me in town."

Mrs. Moran glared at John as he climbed back on Azure. Before leaving, he paused, taking note of the ramshackle shed behind Mrs. Moran. The door hung open and inside he thought he saw an array of sharp knives laid out on a long work table. Not wanting to ask more questions and anger her further, John made a mental note and nodded goodbye.

"Good day, Mrs. Moran. Pleasure to meet you."

He felt her eyes bore into his back as he rode away. He shuddered, thinking that her expression told him she would sooner shoot him between the shoulder blades than say hello to him. He urged Azure to move faster, vowing to ask questions around town about the Moran family.

Sherlock's prediction turned out correct. The deluge of rain began shortly before nightfall, making the ride home cold and uncomfortable once again. The rain continued all night and greeted John in the morning. The slate gray sky offered no respite from the gloom. John cleaned himself and dressed for church service in the weak light of his lantern as the sun remained covered in clouds. He rode into town and secured Azure in front of his offices before walking to the general store to meet Sarah and her father.

Lockwood was a small enough town to require only one church, a modest stone building with arched windows and a cross on the front. John sat in a pew with Sarah and her father, nervously thumbing through a hymnal. He'd never been comfortable in churches, preferring to find his faith in the earth, sky, and sea. But Sarah seemed giddy that he had agreed to attend with them and he supposed attending services was expected of any upstanding citizen.

Shortly before the sermon began, Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes entered and walked to a pew near the front of the church. John felt his heart lift at the sight of Sherlock, who glanced furtively at him and aimed a small smile his way. He wore a dark suit over a white shirt and a tie the same color blue as his eyes. Mycroft wore a similar suit, but with a maroon tie instead of blue. In comparison, John's own, shabby brown suit seemed worn out and unimpressive.

Throughout the service, John and Sherlock exchanged quick glances. John barely heard any of the sermon and was surprised when the end of service came so quickly.

"John?" Sarah offered her elbow to John, who acted the gentleman and took it. "Shall we take our leave?"

John, hoping to greet Sherlock, nodded reluctantly and led Sarah out the door, her father leading the way. They stopped to converse with a few parishioners, but John found himself seated next to Sarah in the wagon all too soon, nary a glimpse of Sherlock to be had.

Sunday dinner with the Sawyers proved enjoyable, although John still felt distracted with thoughts of Sherlock and the meal he was missing at the Holmes ranch. He made stilted conversation with Sarah's father while he forked bites of roast beef and potatoes into his mouth. Sarah contented herself to fluttering her lashes and giggling at anything John said that could be found remotely humorous. She was a sweet girl, John thought. But exhausting and tedious to talk to.

Finally the interminable meal was over and John made his excuses to go. Sarah offered to walk him back to the sheriff's offices and John reluctantly agreed once Mr. Sawyer gave his blessing.

"I'm ever so glad you came with us today." Sarah said, her arm entwined with John's as they walked slowly towards John's office. "Will you come again next week?"

"Oh... er...." John cleared his throat. "That's mighty nice of you to ask, Miss Sawyer. However, Mayor Holmes has asked me to dine at his ranch and I'm afraid I can't refuse him."

He hoped his little white lie would go undiscovered. Mycroft had, after all, extended the invitation for dinner any night John wished to join them.

Sarah pouted a little. "No, I suppose you can't. Perhaps we can go for a stroll one evening this week, then?"

"Err... perhaps." John thought he should be eager court Sarah as she would make anyone a fine wife, but his enthusiasm was lacking. "If I can get away from work, I will pay you a call."

Not entirely satisfied, but content to take what little he offered her, Sarah smiled sweetly at him as they arrived in front of the sheriff's office. "Lovely! Well... good night, Sheriff Watson. I hope I shall see you soon."

Sarah obviously hoped for a good night kiss, but John instead smiled uncomfortably and briefly shook her hand before turning to leave. "Thank you, Miss Sawyer, for the enjoyable meal and company."

John hunched down low in his coat, trying to avoid being soaked by the rain, as he rode away. When he looked back, he saw Sarah walking quickly towards home. He turned back to the road ahead, his mind warring with itself over what he _should_ do... and what he _wanted_ to do.


	6. The Rain Must Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heavy rains bring disaster close to Lockwood, amidst John's investigation into the cattle mutilations on the Holmes Ranch.

The deluge kept John busier the following week than he'd been since taking his position in Lockwood. He lost count of how many stuck wagon wheels and horses he rescued from the mud and how many sandbags he packed along the river's edge to guard against the inevitable flooding the townspeople expected. Every night he barely kept his eyes open as he shucked his mud-spattered clothing before falling into bed. He ignored his shoulder, which grew stiff and sore with the extra labor. The pain crept into his neck, setting his teeth on edge and darkening his mood. He left off shaving to save time and his face was now covered with bristly, golden hair.

John didn't see Sherlock during the week as the heavy rains kept him from his usual patrols. He did, however, see Sarah every evening when he'd stop by the sheriff's office to write up a daily report. She stopped in, leaving behind muffins or a plate of whatever she and her father ate for dinner. Her bright smile never faltered, even when John's conversational skills devolved into disinterested grunts as he ate. Sarah never overstayed, only lingering long enough to make comments about the weather and to inquire about John's health. She left the soft scent of roses behind, the flowery smell filling John's small office until he couldn't help but associate the smell with her coppery hair and bright-eyed smile. He wrestled with his feelings about Sarah and, moreover, his feelings about Sherlock. Any man in Lockwood would view Sarah as a fine prize and worthy of taking as a wife. But when he dreamed, John dreamed of dark curls and sharp cheekbones. He dreamed of thin, pale fingers on his golden skin and of the deep timbre of Sherlock's voice resonating in his ears.

John was almost grateful for the distraction the rains provided and the added workload, if only because it meant he didn't have time to focus on his conflicting thoughts and the dreams that filled his head at night.

It was while he worked on a sandbagging team near the river that John met up with Mycroft Holmes near the end of the week.

"Sheriff Watson!" Mycroft rode a pale palomino stallion, its legs coated in mud up past its knees. "How fares your day?"

John set the sandbag he'd hoisted down and tipped his hat. "Mayor Holmes, good day. It's been a rough week, but we're managing."

"And doing a fine job of it, too." Mycroft boomed, the tips of his mustache lifting with his broad smile. "I just came by to see if you might take Sunday dinner with us at the ranch?"

"That's very kind of you, sir. I'd be right pleased to join you." John grinned. "I thank you for asking."

"The invitation is always extended, but I thought you might need encouragement to take me up on the offer." Mycroft replied, picking up his reins. "We'll see you on Sunday, then."

John felt buoyed with renewed energy at the thought of seeing Sherlock on Sunday. As he continued his work, the sandbags felt lighter and he barely felt the rain.

The lightness of his mood didn't last. On Saturday he was called to the Holmes ranch by one of the men who worked for Mycroft. This time, the bodies of the mutilated cows were missing and only three heads were left along a creek that bordered one of Mycroft's pastures. The heads had been balanced on rusty railroad spikes that were driven into the ground. The heavy rain washed away all evidence that could have been left and John cursed in frustration. He bade the men to put one of the heads in a sack and see if Mycroft's veterinarian could tell him anything about the circumstances of the cow's death.

Before he left, John stopped the two ranch hands who helped him. "Tell me, do you two know anything of the Moran homestead? The one with the old farmhouse?"

The men exchanged looks with each other and the older of the two - Frank - grumbled an answer. "Sebastian Moran used to work for Mayor Holmes. We caught him stealing from the coffers and he was let go. I don't know what he's doing now, but I think he and his wife own the homestead. His brother lives with him, too, I believe."

"Do you think he'd do something like this?" John swept his hand to indicate the mutilations.

"He were a quiet man." Percy, the younger ranch hand, said. "But I didn't like how he sometimes watched us. Something about him weren't right."

"Seems as though he might have reason to wish ill on the Holmes ranch." John observed. "But I have to catch him in the act. Thank you both for helping. May I call on you for assistance again, should the occasion arise?"

Both Frank and Percy nodded eagerly at the prospect of helping the local sheriff and then took their leave. John rubbed at his beard and began his planning to catch Moran and his brother at their dark deed. But first, he thought, the infernal rain would have to stop.

_Miss Molly Hooper_  
Boston, Massachusetts

_My dearest Sherlock,_

_How my heart ached for you when I read of Mycroft giving away Azure! Surely another horse would have suited the sheriff just as well? I swear, Sherlock, when I am in Lockwood, your brother and I will have words about his treatment of you. There is nothing wrong with you, my dear friend, and you know it! Do not let your brother's worries cloud your mind. Stick with your drawing and your teaching. Do you still play the fiddle? I miss listening to your compositions while I'm at my needlework._

_Mama has begun prodding me about our wedding. I am now forced to sit through endless fittings for the dress she's sewing for me. If I had my way, I'd wear trousers just like yours and we'd get married by your lake sometime in the summer. But of course, that wouldn't do for a lady._

_Have you learned anything more of your sheriff? You did not write much of him, but I know you far too well, Sherlock, to not know that he's caught your eye. Take care that you don't give your heart to someone unwilling - I would hate to see my friend hurt._

_Spring in Boston is as crowded and dirty as you surely remember. If I can escape mama's endless wedding torments, I'm going to drag Sally down to watch the Beaneaters play at South End. Stop making that face - I can see it all the way through this letter! It will be my last season to watch them play as I doubt I'll find much baseball in Lockwood, will I?_

_Take care, Sherlock, and write me more of your sheriff and whether he's let you visit Azure or not._

_Yours, always,  
Molly._

The rains slowed by Sunday to a listless drizzle. John woke to a fire in his shoulder and neck, the pain nearly enough to make him cry out. He sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed liniment into the ache until he could finally move his arm without gritting his teeth and hissing each time. He decided to skip Sunday services that morning, hoping the townspeople would understand after his long week of work.

Instead, he took his time getting ready for Sunday dinner at the Holmes ranch. He thought of trying a bath in the spare horse trough in the barn, but even at the thought of packing that many buckets of water across the yard made his shoulder twinge. Instead, he stripped down and poured cold water from the pump over himself, scrubbing away the week of sweat and dirt with a hard puck of lye soap. Shivering, he dried himself off with some flour sacks and pulled on his Sunday clothes. His shoulder wouldn't allow for a full shave, so instead he trimmed his beard to make it as neat as possible. He wore a gray pin-striped shirt with a banded collar and high-waisted riding pants in a dark gray. He added a burgundy shawl collared vest since this would be Sunday dinner and tugged on a pair of black cowboy boots with silver stitching.

He checked the time on the pocket watch he'd started carrying and shrugged on his duster. Grabbing his hat, he went to the barn to put on Azure's saddle.

After much grunting and cursing as his shoulder protested the lifting and tightening of the saddle, John was ready to head to the ranch. He climbed on Azure and clicked his tongue, coaxing her into motion.

The dinner table at the ranch was a great deal more crowded than the last time John had dined with them. Several of Mycroft's ranch hands - including Percy and Frank - sat at the table, along with Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft's man Jennings, Mycroft himself, and Sherlock. John nodded in greeting as Sherlock caught his eyes, flashing a small smile his direction.

"I apologize for my lateness." John said, taking the seat offered to him across from Mycroft. "But I thank you for hosting me."

"Not at all!" Mycroft replied, smiling. "We've only just sat down."

Dinner was buttermilk fried chicken, hot, crispy, and oozing with juices when John bit into a piece. Fresh corn, scalloped potatoes, and crusty rolls with fresh-churned butter accompanied the meal, followed by several homemade pies. John ate his fill while he made polite conversation with Mycroft and the ranch hands. His eyes darted to Sherlock several times during the meal, but the young man kept his head down as he pushed his food around on his plate with his utensils.

"My men told me of the nasty business with my cattle yesterday, Sheriff." Mycroft said, dabbing at his mouth with a cloth napkin. "They say you suspect one of my former hands?"

"I do." John said, nodding. "I ran across the old Moran homestead on my patrol and I got an odd feeling from Moran's wife. As if they might have something to hide."

"I can't say I'm surprised to hear Moran might be behind this."

"I've got to catch him in the act, of course. Would you object to my camping out near your paddocks when the rain clears? They're working at night and it will be the only way I can catch them red-handed."

"Of course, you must do your job! Please let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

"If you don't mind, sir, I'd like to ask Frank and Percy to help. I don't know if Moran is working alone or with someone, so I may need a bit of strength."

"Frank, Percy, do you object?"

Both of the ranch hands shook their heads and insisted they were eager to help. John promised to arrange a night time observation as soon as the ground dried enough. 

"Well, now that business is out of the way, perhaps my brother might entertain us with some music?" Mycroft cast a questioning gaze on Sherlock, who sunk into his chair and tried to ignore his brother's request.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft persisted.

Sherlock sighed irritably and nodded, pushing back his chair and exiting the dining room, only to return a moment later with his fiddle case. He pulled out the instrument and lifted it, casting a questioning glance over the table.

"Oh, do _The Girl I Left Behind Me_!" Percy called out. "I like that 'un!"

Sherlock nodded and a lilting tune on the fiddle. After a few moments, Percy and the other ranch hands began singing along.

"All the dames of France are fond and free  
And Flemish lips are really willing  
Very soft the maids of Italy  
And Spanish eyes are so thrilling

Still, although I bask beneath their smile,  
Their charms will fail to bind me  
And my heart falls back to Erin's isle  
To the girl I left behind me."

Sherlock played the song through once more at Percy's urging, then moved on to play renditions of Shenandoah and The Yellow Rose of Texas. Finally, Mycroft held up a hand to stop his playing.

"Thank you, brother mine." He said as Sherlock packed the fiddle back into its case. "I think it's time for evening chores, men."

As the hands rose to leave, there was a commotion at the front door and Sarah Sawyer came bolting into the dining room, her face stricken. Her eyes found John and she moved to him.

"Oh, Sheriff Watson! You must come quickly! My nephew, Gordy, just rode in to tell us about flash flooding near Huntley. It took out the bridge there before my sister and her husband could cross with their other children. You have to help, my sister's with child and it's almost her time!"

John got up, fetching his coat and hat. Mycroft ordered three of his hands to go with him and they hurriedly saddled horses. As John mounted Azure, he glimpsed Sherlock hovering at the edge of their group.

"I want to help." Sherlock said, when John caught his eye. "I'm good with children, of course. Surely you could use my help?"

John nodded, "Saddle a horse, then."

Sherlock pulled a face. "I... don't ride. Not by myself."

John considered Sherlock for a moment, calculating whether the young man would be a help or a hindrance. But seeing his hopeful, pleading face convinced him and he scooted back on Azure, extending a hand towards Sherlock.

"Boost yourself up using the stirrups." He commanded.

Sherlock did as he was told, awkwardly clambering in front of John. He settled in the saddle, his back pressed against John, who reached around Sherlock's waist and took the reins.

"All right?" He said, his lips close to Sherlock's ear.

Sherlock swallowed and nodded. John signaled his group to go and they all took off at a gallop.

The Huntley bridge was a twenty minute ride on a galloping horse, but the flooding increased that time to forty. The bridge had been swept away in a torrent of water that surged past the river's edge, turning the surrounding land into a mire of mud and water. John could see Sarah's family across the river, their wagon a distance away from the edge of the river to avoid destruction by the forces of nature. A heavily pregnant woman with Sarah's coppery hair sat in the wagon, her face screwed up in pain. Four children under the age of ten stood near their father, who paced back and forth, shooting worried glances at his wife and the raging river.

John assessed the river quickly and pointed to a spot further down. "The water isn't as strong there, the flood is easing up. We might be able to get to them that way."

They signaled to Sarah's family to move to the point in the river where the water was more calm. John instructed Mycroft's men to secure a rope to one of the rocks and then hold it while John tied it tightly around his waist. Sherlock, having gotten off Azure, looked nervous.

"What if the flood surges again?" He asked. "Surely this is too dangerous!"

"The family needs to get to safety. Huntley's in the flood plains. If it's flooding here, the town could be underwater by tomorrow."

Sherlock bit his lip and nodded. "Please be careful."

John caught Sherlock's eye and nodded. "I will. I promise."

He draped his coat and hat over Azure's saddle. Thinking, he also removed his vest and pocket watch. Divested of unnecessary weight, he began the slow process of crossing the river. The water battered at his legs and swirled around his waist and then his chest as he reached the deepest part. He had to stop several times to regain his balance and wait for a surge of water to roll over him, soaking him to the bone. The trip across the river seemed endless, but he finally reached the other side.

"The flood took out our pasture." Sarah's brother-in-law said before John could greet them. "It was threatening to flood the cabin before I sent Gordy out on the horse."

"How's your wife? Is she in labor?" John nodded to the uncomfortable looking woman in the wagon.

"Not yet. She's close, but not yet. I think she twisted her ankle trying to get in the wagon, though."

"All right, this is what I want to do." John said. "I'm going to tie the rope around you, just like I've got it around me. You need to help your wife to cross the river. I'll follow with one of the children. I'll come back and get the others until we're all over on the other side. Can you do that?"

The man nodded. "I think so, yes."

John secured the rope around the man and he helped his wife from the wagon. She cried out when she put weight on her foot, so her husband took most of her weight in his arms. John collected the youngest child - a girl with red braids - and they began the trip back across the river. Each time they had to stop to weather the surges, he pressed the child's face to his shoulder to keep her from swallowing the entire Yosemite river.

John had never been more grateful to touch solid ground as they reached the river's edge. Sherlock rushed to take the girl from John and help him out of the water. John squeezed the excess from his clothes and then moved to head back.

"At least catch your breath, John!" Sherlock snapped. "You'll be no good if you're worn out."

"I've got to get back over." John said. "I'll catch my breath when I'm done."

Two more trips back and forth across the river left John winded and feeling weak, but he steadfastly headed back to get the last child, a boy with a shock of brown curls and his father's serious face. He bade the child to hold tightly to him and began crossing once more. He reached the other side and lifted the boy to his father's arms. Sherlock moved to grab John's hand when a wave of water hit him, sweeping his feet out from under him and sending him down the river. John cried out and was rewarded with a mouthful of river water. He coughed and sputtered, trying to get his head above water. The current swept him away from the edge and tumbled him against the rocks at the bottom.

Then John's shoulder exploded in pain as it caught on a branch sticking up from the water. John screamed at the pain, but instinct had him clinging to the branch as the water buffeted against him.

"John!" Sherlock's voice carried to him, edged in panic. "John, try to stay there! One of Mycroft's men will get you!"

John tightened his grip on the branch and managed to get his feet under him, planting them in the silt at the bottom of the river. His shoulder burned, but he ignored it in favor of survival. A ranch hand he didn't know edged slowly into the river, a rope secured around his middle. It seemed to take forever, but he finally reached John and pulled him out of the water. He half-stumbled and was half-dragged out of the river, coughing up mouthfuls of water and trying not to pass out from the pain in his shoulder. Sherlock helped him to his feet once he was out of the water.

"I said you should have rested!" Sherlock's reprimand came out in a sob. "You could have died!"

"I didn't, though." John said, trying to smile but managing only a grimace as his shoulder sent another stab of pain up his neck.

"You've hurt yourself." Sherlock said accusingly, his eyes moving to the shoulder. "I can tell by the way you're holding it."

"It'll keep until we've got everyone safe." John said. He leaned close and clapped Sherlock on the shoulder. "Thank you, Sherlock. For looking out for me. I'll be _fine_."

If they hadn't been in front of a crowd of people, John might have tried to kiss Sherlock's frown away. At the very least, he would have wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes with his thumb. _Stop._ He commanded himself.

He turned back to look at the wet, bedraggled band of children and adults. "There's still the wagon to worry about."

Sarah's brother-in-law stepped forward. "The wagon's our old spare. I didn't want to risk taking my good one out in this. If we can just get the horses, the wagon can stay until the weather clears."

"You're sure?" John asked and the man nodded. "All right. I can't go across, I'm afraid. This shoulder's paining me pretty good. Are any of you up for it?"

Mycroft's men conferred with each other and chose the strongest of the group to cross. Sarah's brother-in-law took his place at holding the rope while he forded the river one last time to lead the two horses across. By some great miracle, the surging water calmed a little so that the return trip went off smoothly. Once the horses were across, John took to assigning people to horses. Each of the ranch hands took one of the children. Sarah's brother-in-law and another child rode on one of their horse's, and Sarah's sister had a horse to herself. John let Sherlock help him mount Azure and then Sherlock climbed clumsily on himself. He batted John's hands away from the reins and took them up in his own.

"Just tell me what to do." Sherlock breathed. "And rest your shoulder."

John nodded and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist. He stiffened at John's intimacy, but relaxed soon enough.

"Give it a little tug and click your tongue." John said. "Then nudge her a bit with your heels."

They had to move slower on the return trip owing to John's injuries and Sarah's sister's condition. But an hour later they found themselves back at the Holmes ranch just as the last of the sun was setting behind the western mountains. Sarah ran out of the ranch house, crying in relief when she saw her sister.

"Mariah!" She cried, helping the pregnant woman from her horse.

"Is Gordy all right?" Mariah asked, hugging Sarah tightly as she tried to balance on one foot. "Please tell me he's all right."

"He's fine, he's back at home with Pa. Oh, your ankle! We'll get a doctor to look at that."

The next half hour was a chaos of people coming and going as they arranged transport for Sarah and her family to go home. A doctor was summoned to the ranch to look at Mariah's ankle, which was pronounced sprained, but not severely. John's shoulder was also examined, despite his protests.

"You've wrenched it good." Doc Miller said, probing at the tender joint. "Nothing to be done but rest. Use liniment on it and don't keep it so still that it locks up. It'll be better in a few days."

"I can't be away from the job that long...." John started to say, but was cut off by Mycroft.

"Patrols can hold off for a few days, Sheriff Watson. You can rest up in your office, if it makes you feel better. And if there's any emergencies, you may direct them to me."

"But the flooding may continue and there's damage to repair...."

Again, John was cut off by Mycroft's assurances. "I've sent word to Coulson that we'll need assistance in Huntley and the surrounding areas. This isn't a job for one man, Sheriff."

John gave in, realizing that Mycroft was right. "All right. I'll just... head home, then."

Mycroft turned to Sherlock. "I believe this weather is enough to close the school for a few days, is it not?"

Sherlock nodded. "Most of my students won't be able to get to the schoolhouse in these conditions."

"Then I think you should make sure Sheriff Watson gets home safely and stay there to help him with anything while he recovers. Is that all right with you, Sheriff?"

John felt his throat grow dry. Inside, he was leaping up and down in excitement. He glanced nervously at Sherlock, whose face had grown pink.

"I, uh, don't have accommodations for him, Mayor Holmes."

"My brother is perfectly capable of sleeping in a seated position. If I recall, that cabin is equipped with a rocking chair? I can send someone over with extra blankets, if need be. Talk to my housekeeper before you go."

They did just that, arranging for blankets and some of Sherlock's things to be brought to the cabin. Then Sherlock followed John outside, his face awash in worry.

"I'm sorry, John. I didn't know he'd ask me... if you're not comfortable with this, I can argue it with him."

"Oh, no!" John, taken aback, tried to reassure Sherlock. "It's fine, I promise. Unless you're uncomfortable with it...?"

"No, I'd like to see that you're well." Sherlock replied shyly.

"Then we're good?"

"Yes, I suppose we are." Sherlock smiled. "Shall we ride together, or do you want me to walk alongside?"

"Don't be ridiculous, we might as well ride together. I'll give Azure extra food to make up for all the work she's put in today."

They rode front to back just as they had earlier, Sherlock again taking the reins.

"You're a natural at this. Why don't you ride?" John asked curiously. The rain had finally stopped, so the ride to John's cabin was dry, at least, even if they were both still soaked through.

"My brother has always felt I am too delicate to ride." Sherlock said ruefully. "He fears I will fall and hurt myself."

"Your brother doesn't seem to have much confidence in you." John grumbled.

"No, he doesn't."

"He should. You're brilliant. And you're obviously good in an emergency."

"I almost fell to pieces today when the river took you away." Sherlock said, his voice wavering.

"But you didn't. You helped with the children and you knew to listen to my instructions. Mycroft would do well to get to know the _real_ you."

"Do you think you know the real me?" Sherlock asked.

John shifted so that his hands rested at Sherlock's waist. "I know I do."

Sherlock shivered and leaned back against John. They stayed silent for the rest of the short ride. John allowed Sherlock to help him dismount.

"Will you take her to the barn, see that she's dried off and fed? I'll bring some sugar cubes out for a treat." John asked.

"Only if you'll go in and get out of those wet clothes." Sherlock said. "I'll help you with the liniment when I finish."

John, too tired to argue over anything, nodded and limped towards the cabin. He stripped his soaked clothes off and wrapped one of his blankets around himself. Feeling his bones ache with exhaustion, he sat on the bed and fought to keep his eyes open. The battle was lost; John leaned gingerly against the bedpost and let sleep overtake him.

A short while later, John jerked awake to hear Sherlock talking to someone outside - one of Mycroft's ranch hands had brought the blankets and Sherlock's things. Sherlock came into the cabin carrying the stack of linens and a small bag with his things.

"You're awake." He said. "I didn't want to disturb you. How does a hot bath sound?"

It was then that John noticed the horse trough standing in the middle of the cabin. Sherlock must have dragged it in from the barn and it already steamed - half full with boiling water.

"It sounds... heavenly." John slurred, still trying to think through the fog of sleep. "But it's so much work."

"It will help that shoulder loosen up." Sherlock said, obviously using his stern teacher's voice. "The water's almost ready."

John watched Sherlock pour more boiling water in, along with several buckets of cold water to take it down to a temperature that wouldn't scald him. He withdrew a toiletry case from his bag and added a splash of fragrant bath oil that reminded John of Sherlock's own clean scent.

"In you get." Sherlock commanded, turning around so John could climb in with a modicum of privacy.

John dropped the blanket and slid into the bath, groaning as the warm water worked at loosening his stiff limbs. "Oh, God... that feels good."

Sherlock turned the rocking chair around so he could sit without watching John. He passed John some soap and a flannel. "If you need me to help with anything, just let me know."

John was able to wash most of himself with his uninjured arm, but found it impossible to get his hair clean. "Erm... Sherlock? I'm having problems washing my hair."

Sherlock got up and came to the tub's edge. His face was carefully arranged in a neutral expression as he kept his eyes away from John's body as much as possible. He took the soap and lathered his hand, massaging it into John's head with gentle fingers. John closed his eyes, the feeling of Sherlock's hands sending jolts of electricity straight to his groin. He tried to think of something, _anything_ , but the way Sherlock's hands felt and what they might feel like on... other parts of his body.

Sherlock retrieved the tin cup John used at his wash basin and carefully rinsed the soap from his hair, making sure to keep the suds from running into John's eyes.

"Sherlock?" John croaked, his voice coming out a little high-pitched and strangled.

"Yes?"

"Think you could help me get rid of this?" John pointed to his beard. "I haven't been able to shave all week because of my shoulder. I don't know how long I can stand it on my face."

"Don't all rough and tough cowboys have a beard?" Sherlock teased.

John pulled a face. "I'll trade rough and tough for not itching all the time."

Sherlock laughed. "It's true, I prefer you clean shaven, anyway. Where's your shaving kit?"

John pointed out the kit and Sherlock retrieved it and lathered John's face with shaving cream. John tilted his head back to give Sherlock an easy angle. Using the straight razor, Sherlock drew it carefully across John's face, rinsing in between swipes. When he was done, he helped John rinse the remains of the lather to reveal his face, now smooth and free of whiskers.

"You look like yourself again." Sherlock smiled, drying off the razor and putting it back in the kit.

"I feel closer to myself, too." John said, returning the smile. "Mind turning around while I get out?"

Sherlock obliged and John clambered out of the tub, using the blanket he'd wrapped himself in to dry himself off. He rummaged in his chest of clothing and withdrew the long underwear in which he slept. He pulled those on with only a little struggle when it came to putting his injured arm in the sleeve.

"Can I help?" Sherlock said, half turning.

"I've got it." John grunted, screwing up his face as a jolt of pain hit him.

"Here." Sherlock turned around and grabbed the liniment John kept by the side of his bed. "We need to put some of this on."

John gave up and sat on the bed, letting Sherlock perch next to him. He scooped out some of the liniment and gently massaged it into John's shoulder. John gasped when Sherlock hit the sorest spot and Sherlock paused.

"It's fine." John groaned. "Keep going."

The longer Sherlock massaged, the less John felt the pain. Soon he was able to put his arm through the sleeve of the underwear and finish buttoning it up. Sherlock helped him into bed, extinguished the lantern that illuminated the cabin, and then went to the rocker where he wrapped a blanket around himself and curled up, his feet drawn up to his chin.

"I feel guilty making you sleep over there." John said into the darkness.

"I'll survive." The smile could be heard in Sherlock's voice.

"Sherlock?"

"Mmm?"

"Thank you. For everything."

"I simply did what was necessary."

"I think we both know that's not the whole of it."

The silence stretched and then Sherlock spoke again. "You're welcome, John."

John listened to Sherlock's breaths grow even and deep before he, too, closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.


	7. Pretty Saro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock continue pushing against each other's boundaries.

This time John's nightmare placed him back in the hospital, surrounded by his fellow soldiers. The air was rife with moans and screaming and his nose filled with the smell of rotting flesh. John blinked his eyes open and saw a doctor hovering over him.

"I'm sorry, we're going to have to take the arm." The doctor said, brandishing a bone saw.

"N-no... no!" John felt himself going under just as the saw touched his skin, causing the pain in his shoulder to bloom.

"John? John!"

John jerked awake and grimaced, his shoulder stiff and sore. Sherlock stood over him, a look of concern on his face.

"Are you all right?" Sherlock asked.

John had obviously interrupted him while he dressed. He wore black breeches, black riding boots, and a white shirt that was only half-fastened. Suspenders hung at his side.

"You were moaning for a while." Sherlock still watched John with concern. "I was about to wake you when you cried out."

"I'm fine." John insisted, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing up.

"How is your shoulder this morning?"

John swung his arm to prove he felt better and his knees almost went out from under him at the jolt of pain that went down his arm. Sherlock moved to grab him by his good arm, steadying him. John sat back on the edge of the bed and waited for the pain to pass.

"It's a little stiff." John grunted. He glanced up and caught Sherlock's eyes, twinkling with humor.

"Only a little stiff, eh?" Sherlock said, turning away and fastening the rest of his shirt. "Well, then, I may as well send you out to clean your barn."

John chuckled. "All right, I suppose it's paining me fairly well. Will you help me with more of that liniment?"

"Of course." Sherlock shrugged into his suspenders and took up the pot of liniment. 

He helped John pull his arm out of his sleeve and carefully massaged the ointment into the aching joint. John closed his eyes and forced himself to relax, a pleased sound rumbling from his throat.

"Is that better?" Sherlock asked.

John could now move his arm slowly, with only a slight twinge of pain. He nodded, gratefully. "Thank you."

"I trust you can dress yourself?" Sherlock asked lightly, his cheeks turning slightly pink. "I'll go check on Azure while you do and then I'll see what I can do for breakfast."

John assured Sherlock he could manage his clothes just fine and Sherlock headed towards the barn. John used a flannel to wash his face and then ran a comb through his sleep-mussed hair. He pulled on clean canvas trousers and a white and cream-striped linen shirt. His clothes from the day before would have to be laundered before they would be wearable again; they stunk of river water and dried mud flaked away when John held them up. With some grunting and awkward maneuvering, John managed to slip his feet into his own boots. He expended even more effort getting his suspenders attached to his trousers. He pulled one strap over his good shoulder, but couldn't maneuver the second strap without assistance.

He tromped into the back yard, heading towards the barn to see if he could help Sherlock with anything. As he drew closer, he heard Sherlock's deep, clear voice raised in song. John slowed, moving quietly so he wouldn't disturb Sherlock and stop the singing. He peeked inside the barn where Sherlock was using a shovel to muck out Azure's paddock. As he worked, he sang:

"Down in some lone valley,  
In a lonesome place  
Where the wild birds do whistle,  
And their notes do increase  
Farewell pretty Saro,  
I bid you adieu,  
But I'll dream of pretty Saro  
Wherever I go."

John swallowed, his throat gone dry. He couldn't take his eyes off Sherlock's lean body as it bent to scoop with the shovel. He could practically feel the vibration of Sherlock's singing in his belly, a warm, purring creature that curled up inside him and warmed him through.

Sherlock's voice grew sorrowful with the next verse:

"My love, she won't have me,  
So I understand,  
She wants a freeholder  
Who owns house and land.  
I cannot maintain her,  
With silver and gold  
Nor buy all the fine things  
That a big house can hold."

John recognized the song; his mother had sung it to him and his siblings when they were little. On impulse, he slipped inside the barn and lent his voice with Sherlock's to the last part:

"If I was a poet  
And could write a fine hand  
I'd write my love a letter  
That she'd understand  
I'd write it by the river  
Where the waters o'er-flow..."

Sherlock, upon hearing John's voice, startled and looked up, their eyes meeting. His face turned pink as it always did when he was caught being anything but a proper gentleman. His voice faltered for a few lines, but joined John's at "I'd write my love a letter."

John moved closer to Sherlock, who straightened, his eyes transfixed. John took Sherlock's hand and brushed his lips over the knuckles. He looked up at Sherlock through his lashes, a teasing smile flitting across his face. As he reached the end of the song, he made a slight alteration to the words; this last part, he sung alone as Sherlock had fallen silent.

"And I'll dream of pretty Sherlock,  
Wherever I go."

Sherlock's eyes widened at the changed lyric, his face growing even pinker. John laughed softly and pulled Sherlock closer. He stood on his tiptoes and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips before pulling away. But as he moved to drop Sherlock's hand, Sherlock tugged him back to return the kiss. There was nothing chaste about this second kiss. Sherlock's soft lips moved with John's, their teeth grazing briefly. Sherlock smelled of the barn - fresh hay and straw mixed with the earth smell of his sweat. The shovel fell to the ground, forgotten, as Sherlock snaked his arms around John's waist. John, meanwhile, took full advantage and buried his fingers in Sherlock's dark curls - something he'd thought about doing many times. They both kissed desperately, each giving in to a yearning the other hadn't known was returned.

John would have gladly kissed Sherlock until the end of the world, but he felt a sharp nudge at his back that caused him to stumble and break the kiss. Azure whinnied and snorted, pawing the ground and tossing her head to show how amused she was at the joke she'd just played on John.

John steadied himself, his eyes crinkling with good humor. He rested his forehead on Sherlock's shoulder and laughed softly. "I think she's telling us to find our own room."

Sherlock's answering laugh sounded breathless. He pressed his nose in John's hair and inhaled. "That was... that was...."

"Entirely inappropriate, I know." John pulled away, forcing the smile off his face. "I apologize. I shouldn't have done that."

"N-no!" Sherlock took hold of John's hand again, squeezing tightly. He lowered his eyes and said his next words barely above a whisper. "I was going to say that it was... amazing."

"Ooh." John breathed, his heart thumping a little faster. "Really?"

"Did you not like it?" Sherlock met John's eyes, a sharp expression in them.

"Like it?" John asked and laughed, looking away. "I've thought of doing that to you since the moment I laid eyes on you, I think."

Sherlock appeared dumbfounded, his mouth slightly open. John resisted kissing him again, though he'd have liked to kiss Sherlock even more senseless. Instead, he reached out and traced his thumb over Sherlock's jaw. "It's driven me to distraction, trying to keep myself from acting on my impulses."

"I-I've felt the same." Sherlock said, finally finding his voice. "I haven't been able to drive you from my thoughts."

"That's a predicament." John replied, gravely. "What are we going to do?"

As he spoke, John drew closer and rested his hands on Sherlock's waist, and then allowed them to slip behind and brush over his backside. Sherlock stiffened, blushing bright red this time.

"Oh, that blush." John said, his voice gone deep and rumbling. "I think it is my favorite color."

With that, his lips met Sherlock's once more and Sherlock relaxed into him. John's hands continued roaming and Sherlock, taking his cue, tentatively explored the plains of John's back with his own hands. John trailed his mouth along Sherlock's jaw, nibbling lightly, and then dipped his tongue in the hollow of Sherlock's collarbone. Sherlock gasped, his fingers tightening, his head thrown back, and his eyes closed tightly.

"Is this all right?" John whispered against Sherlock's skin.

"Unnngh." Sherlock moaned. "Don't stop!"

John laughed and mouthed his way across Sherlock's clavicle, unbuttoning his shirt so he could push it aside to get at Sherlock's skin. His trousers grew tight and he pressed his hips into Sherlock, finding evidence of his desire there, as well. He felt Sherlock's fingers at his waist, tugging his shirt free.

"Sheriff Watson?"

The distant voice calling outside stopped them short. John frozen, listening.

"Sheriff Watson!" The voice came again, marginally closer.

John pressed his forehead against Sherlock's shoulder and cursed softly. "It's Sarah Sawyer."

"Of course it is." Sherlock said, bitterly. His hands were still at John's waist, but they stilled.

They stood for a moment, still together, before John pushed away, tucking his shirt in and smoothing his hair back. "Stay here for now until...."

John glanced at the bulge at Sherlock's groin and Sherlock nodded, turning to retrieve the shovel that lay, forgotten, on the ground. John took a few deep breaths, hoping his own arousal would fade, before striding out of the barn.

"Oh, Sheriff Watson!" Sarah smiled as John came out on his front porch. "I hoped to find you here. I wanted to bring you some fresh muffins I made this morning. A thank you, for all you've done for my family."

John accepted the basket of muffins with a nod. "Thank you, Miss Sawyer. That's mighty kind of you."

"Not at all!" She giggled. "After all, you saved my sister and her family from injury... or worse!"

"Just doing my job." John muttered, trying not to meet Sarah's eyes. "How are they doing?"

"My sister gave birth to a baby girl this morning." Sarah said, her smile growing brighter. "They're all doing fine."

"I'm glad." John meant this, sincerely. "Well, thank you for the muffins... I should probably get back to the barn."

"Oh, but...." Sarah looked crestfallen. "I was hoping we might go for a stroll or...."

John cursed himself for ever thinking he'd find happiness with this woman. She was sweet and she would make a fine wife, but he knew that he could never be content with her. Not when he saw a dark-haired, blue-eyed man with smooth, pale skin every time he closed his eyes. Not after he'd tasted Sherlock's lips and found them as sweet as he imagined they would be.

"I'm sorry, Miss Sawyer." He said, firmly. "Even though I'm injured, there are still things to do here."

"O-of course." Sarah said, trying to regain her smile. "Perhaps another time, then? Maybe you can dine with us later?"

_Persistent._ John thought, grinding his teeth. "I... don't think so. You're a lovely woman, Miss Sawyer, but...."

John trailed off, not knowing what to say. _But I fancy men?_ _But you're not Sherlock?_ Either of those answers would send a scandal rocketing through Lockwood and John would be driven out of town... or worse.

"Oh." Sarah replied, flatly. "Of course. You're a busy person and... of course. I understand."

John knew, by the hurt in her voice and the tears threatening to fall, that she didn't, not really. But he nodded and offered a grateful smile. "Thank you, again, Miss Sawyer. Give my regards to your father."

Sarah nodded and waved, turning away so that John couldn't see if she cried or not. His heart was heavy as he returned to the cabin, setting the basket of muffins on the table. Sherlock had returned from the barn and was standing over the pot-bellied stove, stirring what looked to be a pan of oatmeal. He looked up when John came back in, a question on his face.

"Miss Sawyer brought muffins." John indicated the basket of baked goods. He no longer knew what to say.

Sherlock nodded. "That was kind of her."

John nodded, avoiding Sherlock's eyes. "Look... uh... I understand if you feel like you can't stay here any longer."

"Do you want me to leave, John?"

A knife pierced John's heart. No, he didn't want Sherlock to leave. In fact, just the thought made him want to grab hold of Sherlock and not let go until he promised never to leave. John tried to rein in this impulse.

"Just... if you don't feel comfortable around me...."

Sherlock pulled the pot of oatmeal off the stove and dished it into two bowls angrily, slopping oatmeal over the sides. "Do you think you forced yourself upon me, John Watson? Did it _seem_ like I didn't want that... whatever that was... out there?"

Sherlock's eyes were swirling storms of blue as he became angrier. "Didn't I say that I've not been able to keep you from my thoughts? Hell, John, if she hadn't interrupted us, I would have ripped that shirt off you!"

John felt the heat of arousal return and he and Sherlock stared each other down. John was the first to break, turning his head and letting out a bark of laughter.

"Oh, Sherlock," he said, looking at him affectionately. "You _do_ hold surprises."

Sherlock's jaw tightened and he lifted his chin. "I know what people think about me. I'm weak... I'm gentle. I'm feminine." He spat this last word out. "Because I value my mind over baser things, I'm thought less of a man. But don't you doubt, John Watson, I _am_ a man and I know what I want."

John felt as though his breath had been stolen from his lungs. He swallowed hard and crossed the small room to stand in front of Sherlock. He met Sherlock's eyes in an unwavering stare.

"I don't think you're weak." John said, gravely. He took Sherlock's hands in his and examined them. "These are strong hands. And you possess a strong mind and a strong will. I don't think you less of a man, not for one second."

Sherlock's back, ramrod straight, relaxed a little. "I don't want to leave."

"No?"

Sherlock shook his head, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "No."

"I'm glad to hear that." John said quietly. "I worried that perhaps you would regret...."

"I don't do anything I don't want to." Sherlock said, a threat of steel running through his voice. "I can take care of myself."

John laughed. "All right, I can see that."

"You should eat your breakfast." Sherlock grumbled, nodding at the bowls of oatmeal.

"Only if you join me."

They ate, splitting the muffins from Sarah and spreading preserves over them. Rather than speaking, they spent the meal shooting each other flirtatious glances. John nudged Sherlock's leg with his own from under the table and smiled wickedly at him, which brought back the faint blush John found so attractive.

"What shall we do today?" John asked.

"You're supposed to rest your shoulder." Sherlock pointed out, a muffin crumb on his top lip.

John reached out to flick the muffin crumb away and Sherlock grinned, playfully snapping his teeth at John.

"I can rest the shoulder and we can still do something." John pointed out. "I'll have to go into town to make sure everything's running smoothly, anyway. We should probably stop by your brother's ranch to see if help from Coulson arrived, as well."

"What about a picnic by the lake?" Sherlock suggested. "I'll get the cook at the ranch to pack us something."

"I like that idea!" John smiled. "We can go after I've checked that I'm not needed."

Now that the rains had stopped and the sun was shining, things were slowly returning to normal. John didn't do a full patrol, but he and Sherlock rode into town to make sure no disasters struck. He found Mycroft at the mayor's office instead of the ranch. The office was bustling with troops from Coulson who had arrived to do clean-up in Huntley. Mycroft assured John that things were under control. Before he and Sherlock left to visit the ranch kitchens, Mycroft took John aside.

"I've got everything arranged as soon as you're well enough to do overnight surveillance of my cattle." He said quietly. "I do want to resolve this matter as soon as possible."

"Of course, sir." John said. "I'm sure I'll heal quickly."

"Just take care of yourself and rest that injury." Mycroft commanded. "If you need _anything_ , my brother will take care of it. I trust he's performing well?"

John stomped down on the hysterical giggle that threatened to bubble out of his mouth. "He is proving quite useful, yes."

"Good. Thank you, Sheriff Watson, for stopping by today. Your dedication is a credit to you as a sheriff."

The kitchen staff at the Holmes ranch had a soft spot for Sherlock, so he easily procured a picnic basket stuffed with fried chicken, fluffy biscuits and homemade jam, and thick slices of apple pie. They spread a blanket near Sherlock's favorite lake and ate, feeding each other bites of biscuit dripping with strawberry jam. The kitchen had tucked in a bottle of fresh lemonade, too, which they drank greedily as the sun grew warmer late in the afternoon.

"Does your brother know? About your...preferences?" John asked, as they lay in the sun and digested their lunch.

"He knows I am 'different', but I think he denies to himself my true nature." Sherlock replied. "I've only had a few dalliances while away at school. Mycroft is older than I am, so he was long finished with his schooling by that time. I believe he thinks me uninterested in... well, anyone."

"So what changed that?"

"You have to ask?" Sherlock propped himself up on an elbow and splayed one hand over John's stomach. "A certain golden-haired sheriff took my horse _and_ my heart."

John chuckled. "If I remember correctly, the horse was freely given to me."

"So was the heart." Sherlock whispered and leaned over to kiss the corner of John's mouth. "I didn't think I cared, John Watson. I thought I was content with my life. Then you appeared and proved that I was wrong."

John reached up to stroke the side of Sherlock's face. "I thought if I came out west, if I started over, I would stop having these... feelings... that I have for men. But I confess I cannot feel ashamed for what I feel for you, Sherlock."

"Was there someone else? Where you lived before...?"

John nodded. "There was. But I didn't feel half the affection for him that I feel for you after only a handful of weeks."

"Why do you think that is? Because I feel the same for you, but we barely know each other."

"Who, but God, can explain why some people are drawn to each other like moths to a candle flame?" John said wistfully.

"You think God has anything to do with this?" Sherlock laughed bitterly. "Do you not listen at Sunday service? What we do now is a sin."

"Do you really believe that?" John sat up halfway and looked seriously at Sherlock. "I choose to believe in a God who would not look down upon our companionship and see evil. There is no evil in your heart, Sherlock, nor mine. How can what we feel be a sin?"

Sherlock grew quiet, contemplative and John continued. "I'm not a religious man, but I am a good man. I know that about myself. When I die and face God's judgment, I will face him with no shame for what I've done in life. It's true, I came to Lockwood in hopes of finding a more accepted way of life. Marrying, having children, following the path that society deems appropriate. It seems, though, that I am simply unable to live that life. Does that bother you?"

"N-no." Sherlock replied. "I admire that in you. You're not ashamed of who you are. How do you achieve that? Because I have been told all my life that these feelings are unnatural and wrong."

John looked at Sherlock for a long moment before he spoke again. "When I look at you, I see a brilliant mind. I see nimble fingers that play a fiddle better than I've ever heard. I hear a voice that pleases my ears. I see a strong back and shoulders that can carry a heavy burden. And most importantly, I see a kind heart that knows how to love. God made all of that and it is an insult to Him to be ashamed of any of it."

"You see all that?"

"I see _you_ , Sherlock."

Sherlock looked away, lost for words. Finally, he said, very quietly, "We'll still have to keep all of this a secret."

"Yes, I agree." John replied casually. "I imagine most people won't understand. That doesn't change anything, though. I still want to continue getting to know you. Do you feel the same?"

"Of course I do!" Sherlock said. "I hope you will forgive any doubts I may have."

"Nothing to forgive." John smiled gently. "Any time you doubt, I will be there to take your hand and lead you through them."

They settled back to less serious conversation. Sherlock pointed out a cloud above them that he insisted looked like a rabbit. John argued that it was obviously an elephant. It ended in a fit of giggles as John discovered Sherlock was particularly ticklish under his arms.

They packed up to leave as the sun began to sink lower in the horizon. John's shoulder ached after a day spent outdoors and he looked forward to getting home. Still full from their picnic, they decided to forego dinner and spent the evening in quiet repose. Sherlock sat at the small table in the cabin and wrote a letter while John laid on his bed and read a book Sherlock had brought with him.

Later, they watched the last rays of the sun disappear behind the mountain from the carved wooden chairs that sat on the front porch of the cabin. Sherlock helped John get ready for bed again, applying liniment on his aching shoulder until it felt loose and relaxed once more.

After John climbed into bed, Sherlock moved to curl up in the rocking chair like he had the night before.

"Don't be daft," John said, patting the space beside him on the bed. "There's room for us both here."

"You're sure...?" Sherlock hesitated.

"Of course I'm sure. No need for you to suffer in a hard rocking chair. If I hadn't been so tired last night, I would have insisted you share the bed then, as well."

Acquiescing, Sherlock slipped between the covers behind John, curving his body around him. He laid stiffly, barely breathing.

"Relax!" John insisted.

"I'm trying," Sherlock said, his voice strained.

John sighed, trying to be patient despite his tiredness. He burrowed back against Sherlock and then, quietly, began to sing.

"Down in some lone valley,  
In a lonesome place  
Where the wild birds do whistle,  
And their notes do increase  
Farewell pretty Saro,  
I bid you adieu,  
But I'll dream of pretty Saro  
Wherever I go."

He felt Sherlock's body relax against him and their voices joined together with the second verse. By the third, the song slowed and then stopped as sleep overtook them.


	8. No Way On Earth to Hide It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week has passed and John sets about courting Sherlock properly, but complications arise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short update this time, I'm afraid, and I apologize for the extended gaps in my usual update schedule. Summer busyness, chronic health problems, general fatigue, and a gnarly case of writer's block all conspired to keep me from updating. Thank you to all who have been patiently waiting for this update - I'll try to do better!
> 
> A small historical note: the battle I have John describe is, in fact, the massacre at Wounded Knee, which took place in South Dakota in 1890 and was a truly terrible battle. The cause for the chaos (the deaf Lakota man who didn't want to give up his rifle) was real, but my telling of it was my own. I don't know how realistic it would be for a soldier in the 1800s to regret his participation in battle with the Native Americans, but I wanted John to feel regret for that battle and for the wounds it left - both physical and mental.

 

  
_When you're in love, when you're in love,_  
_There is no way on earth to hide it,_  
_When you're in love, really in love,_  
_You simply let your heart decide it._  
\- Johnny Mercer, _Seven Brides for Seven Brothers_

_Sherlock Holmes_  
_Lockwood, Montana_

_My Dear Molly,_

_I daren't write what has taken place this past week, for I fear that it is a dream and, by writing it, that I would wake and find my world unchanged. But if I do not tell someone, I may burst._

_Do you remember that one afternoon, in Boston, when we walked along the river and you taught me how to skip rocks? I told you then that I felt I would be happy living life completely alone, with no one by my side. That I was content to share my interests with only myself. You told me you thought that would be a very lonely existence and, if I remember correctly, I was very vehement in my defense that it would not._

_I was mistaken, Molly Hooper._

_Oh, but it feels like this past week has opened all the curtains into my life and let the sun in! It's shone light into my darkest corners and revealed what true happiness a life with someone of one's own choosing can bring._

_I suppose you think me cruel for writing these sentiments about someone else to you, my betrothed. I do not mean any slight to you. You are, still, my best friend and the only one who knows who I truly am. I hope you will celebrate my happiness with me, and not mourn something between the two of us that could never be. Are you still sure, Molly, of your plan to wed me, but in name only? I would not begrudge you if you wish me to release you from your promise. I'm sure I can arrange it so that you are not cast in a bad light._

_I'm sure you have guessed already, but I will tell it to you here: it is "my sheriff" who brings me such joy. He has stolen my heart while I was not looking and I daresay I barely remember what life was like without his sunny countenance._

_But I am being melodramatic and childish. I must end this missive for now - please write and tell me your thoughts. I cannot bear it if I've hurt your feelings. Tell me how we will proceed - you always were the leader among the two of us. Write as quickly as you can manage, my dear friend._

_All my best,  
Sherlock_

"What do you dream about?" Sherlock twined his fingers with John's and pressed a kiss at the base of his neck.

They lay in bed together, the early morning sunlight filtering through the window. A week had passed - a glorious, carefree week of stolen kisses, picnics by the lake, and evenings spent in companionable silence. John's light patrols left much of their days free to spend the time as they wished. Sherlock's schoolhouse remained closed, though the weather improved. The clean-up from flooding kept his students unable to attend classes and, for once, he was grateful for that. John set about courting Sherlock properly, which meant they went for long walks at sunset and John took up the habit of leaving one white daisy for Sherlock to find. Sometimes he woke to find it on his pillow, John already up, dressed, and out in the barn tending to Azure. Other times, he found it with the stem tucked inside a book or laying across his dinner plate. Sherlock kept each one, pressing them in between the pages of the books he'd brought from the ranch. Each day John's shoulder became less painful and he grew stronger. Though Sherlock rejoiced in this, he also despaired, because he knew it would mean their time together was drawing to a close.

"Hmmm?" John rolled towards him, burying his face in Sherlock's neck and inhaling.

"Your dreams," Sherlock insisted. "You have them every night. What are they about?"

A shadow flickered across John's face as he pulled away. "You don't want to hear about that."

"I do, though! I want to know everything about you."

"They aren't happy dreams, Sherlock."

"I gathered as much, based on the sounds you make in your sleep."

John rolled to lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling. He let out a soft sigh and closed his eyes. "I dream of the last battle I fought. In the Army. The one that gave me the bullet wound in my shoulder."

"Was it terrible?" Sherlock splayed his fingers across John's stomach, feeling the tense muscle beneath.

"It was chaos and horror. Everything you've ever imagined in every sermon about hell, that was the battlefield." John's voice hitched a little and he stopped to swallow. "The government was seizing Lakota lands in South Dakota and we were sent to... to disarm the Lakota and take their land. There was... a misunderstanding. One of the indians was a deaf man and he didn't want to give up his rifle. One of my cavalry wouldn't listen when they said he was deaf and couldn't hear orders given. There was a scuffle, the rifle went off... and we all started firing."

John's face twisted as he told the story, a look of great pain crossing over it. "There were...." He stopped, his voice breaking. "There were women and children there, as well as Lakota braves. We killed them all, indiscriminately."

"You were just following orders." Sherlock whispered, his stomach clutching at the images his imagination created.

John nodded. "Oh yes, just following orders. Of course. But that doesn't make it right. Well over two hundred people died in that battle on both sides. The only reason I didn't was because the bullet caught me in the shoulder instead of the heart."

"And thank God for that." Sherlock uttered harshly.

"No, God wasn't with us on that battlefield." John said. "It was luck and, perhaps, a punishment. That I should live on with the memory of the screaming and the smell of gunpowder in my nose."

Sherlock rested his head on John's chest, listening to the heartbeat beneath his ear. "You are a good man, John Watson."

John's hand stroked Sherlock's hair absentmindedly. "I am a man. And I try to do good. But I don't know that I am a good man. You are, though, and I think perhaps you show me how to be a better man."

"We do that for each other." Sherlock tilted his head and John rewarded him with a kiss. "You dream of the battlefield, then?"

"Yes. And the hospital afterwards. Not pleasant memories. Ones I would gladly forget, but that is a mercy denied me."

Sherlock sat up in bed and pulled his knees close, his face darkening as he brooded over his thoughts.

"Hey," John said, sitting up as well and running a knuckle over Sherlock's jaw. "Don't think of it. I certainly try not to. It is enough that I wake from those dreams to find you with me."

"It won't always be that way, though." Sherlock pointed out. "Your shoulder is healed and my classes will soon resume."

"And you will have to go home, and we will have to pretend we are nothing more than acquaintances." John nodded. "I know this. I do. But it is my fervent hope that we might continue to meet - you can come and visit Azure, and I can stop at the lake on my patrols. It won't be as comforting as feeling you against me while I sleep, but it will be enough. Don't you think?"

"No, it isn't enough." Sherlock scowled. "It will never be enough. I could be with you every moment of my day and it would not be enough."

John laughed and pulled Sherlock closer to him, settling him in his lap and kissing the top of his head. "I know, dear one. I know. But we will make it work for us, won't we?"

"I suppose." Sherlock huffed. "If that is the only way."

"You know it is. I could not bear it if harm came to you because of me. So you must behave as you always have and we will keep our courting secret."

"Will it be like this forever?"

"I wish I could say for sure, but I don't know. I hope not, though. I hope we will find a way to be together, away from prying eyes and gossiping tongues."

They stayed together for a moment longer, enjoying the quiet of the morning, and then Sherlock rose to dress. John followed, happy to find his shoulder moved smoothly and with only a slight ache at the joint. He would be able to resume full patrols soon, as well as taking care of the matter of the cattle mutilations.

Sherlock busied himself at the stove, frying johnnycakes for their breakfast. After he'd finished dressing, John came up behind Sherlock and leaned into him. His hands stole to Sherlock's waist and rested there, lightly. What he would have done after that remained unknown, for at that moment the sound of a throat clearing from the front doorway interrupted them.

John jumped apart from Sherlock and Sherlock's pan of johnnycakes clattered to the floor. They spun around to see Mycroft casting his shadow in the doorway.

"Sheriff Watson," he said, stiffly. "I would speak with you."

He turned on his heel and walked outside. John looked at Sherlock, who looked back at him, terrified.

"It will be okay," John reassured Sherlock. "I promise. I'll make it okay."

He left Sherlock to clean up their aborted breakfast and went outside to find Mycroft sitting on the porch, gazing out over the mountains.

"Mayor?" John asked, cautiously.

"There have been more mutilations this morning. Three calves, barely weaned." Mycroft said sharply. "I came to see if your shoulder was healed."

"It, ah... it is, yes. I was planning to come see you today and let you know I would be resuming my duties."

"Good. That's very good."

"I'll do an overnight patrol, then, with Frank and Percy. Tonight?"

"That would be appreciated."

"Then I'll make the arrangements." John paused, waiting for Mycroft to continue, but the silence stretched between them. "Sir, about what you walked into back there...."

"My brother," Mycroft interrupted. "Is to be married this summer. Did he tell you that?"

John's stomach twisted. "N-no, he did not."

"He's betrothed to a young lady he was friendly with back home. It's quite a fortuitous pairing as her family is well-off. Between the two of them, they will both secure a good future for each other."

John nodded. "I imagine so, yes."

"You take my meaning, then?"

John's jaw tightened and he looked away from Mycroft and nodded. "I do."

"Good man, Sheriff Watson." Mycroft stood and brushed nonexistent dust from his clothing. "Do let me know if you need anything while arranging things this evening."

John watched Mycroft ride back to the ranch, his face hot and his thoughts jumbled.

"John?" Sherlock appeared in the doorway. "Everything okay?"

John closed his eyes tightly. _Summer. He isn't marrying until summer. We have until then._

He turned, smiling brightly at Sherlock. "It's fine. He didn't see anything."

"R-really?" Sherlock looked hesitant.

"Really. We're fine. I've got to get back to my duties, though. There's more trouble with the cattle on your ranch."

Sherlock nodded, his shoulders relaxing. "Of course. I'm sure Mycroft is eager to get it all cleared up."

"He is. Were you able to save breakfast? I'm starving."

"I'll make us some more." Sherlock said, pulling a face. "I had to throw the others out."

"I'll help." John pushed past Sherlock and continued pretending everything was fine, even though the earth felt as though it were crumbling beneath him. "Let's enjoy a last breakfast together."


	9. Beat the Devil Aroud the Stump

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John attempts to apprehend the Morans, but it all goes awry.

_Western Union Telegram_

_Mrs. Caroline Hooper, Boston, Mass_

_I find it necessary to accelerate our plans. Train tickets and itinerary arriving soon._

_M. Holmes._

Sherlock was quiet as John cleared away breakfast.

"Are you certain my brother didn't say anything?" He asked.

"N-nothing," John tried to keep his voice steady.

"Because you know he only sees what he wants to see. You know that, don't you?"

John nodded, turning around and folding his arms. "He's just eager for me to get back to work."

Sherlock watched John for a few moments more and then nodded, looking away. "I suppose that's understandable. If you'll be busy today, perhaps I'll go by the schoolhouse and get things ready for classes to resume."

"I'll take you there before I head to the ranch." John offered.

"That takes you a little out of your way," teased Sherlock.

John grinned. "I don't care. C'mon, let's saddle up Azure."

Sherlock followed John to the stable and soon Azure was saddled and they rode towards town. Sherlock leaned his head back against John and smiled, closing his eyes and enjoying the soft, warm breeze that ruffled his hair.

The muddy roads had dried to dust and the heavy rains left behind blossoming wildflowers . John kept Azure at a slow pace, despite the need to get back to work. He wanted this moment, alone with Sherlock, to last forever. But all too soon, the schoolhouse came into view. John reined Azure to a stop next to the fence and dismounted. He reached up to help Sherlock down. They stood, face to face, John's hands resting on Sherlock's waist. They shared a secretive smile with each other and John leaned in to brush his lips briefly against Sherlock's, which brought the color flooding to Sherlock's cheeks.

John reached into the pack strapped to Azure's side and withdrew the daisy he'd carefully tucked into it that morning. He held it out to Sherlock, twirling it between his fingers.

"So you'll think of me while you work." John said.

"I think of you every moment of the day," Sherlock replied, but took the daisy and touched it to his cheek. "Thank you."

"I won't see you tonight," John scrunched his face in disappointment. "But perhaps tomorrow, if my overnight patrol is successful?"

"Please be careful, John."

"Don't worry, Sherlock. This is my job, after all."

"I know, but be careful for me, anyway?"

John relented. "Of course."

He lifted Sherlock's hand to his lips, brushing them across his knuckles, and then moved to mount Azure once more. As he turned, he caught a flash of red disappearing around the corner of the row of stores across the road.

"Something wrong?" Sherlock asked, when John froze in his movements.

"I thought I saw...." John shook his head. "No, nothing. Trick of the light."

He tipped his hat to Sherlock and then turned Azure towards the Holmes ranch and rode off.

John spent the rest of the afternoon arranging things at the Holmes Ranch. He, Frank, and Percy each chose strategic hiding places around the corral John surmised would be hit next. He saw Sherlock briefly that evening, when he returned home. John was too preoccupied with planning to do more than wave at Sherlock, something that caught Mycroft's sharp gaze. After that, Mycroft suggested sending men to fetch Sherlock's things from John's cabin, as it was clear that John no longer needed assistance at home. Sherlock disappeared to his quarters shortly after that and John was left waiting for sunset to begin his patrol.

The cook fed them a quick dinner before dark and then John headed out to the corrals to wait. He didn't look forward to the long night ahead, having only his rifle for company.

Predictably, the hours crawled by at a snail's pace. John found his mind wandering and he made a conscious effort to focus on the task at hand. 

The moon took its time traveling across the night sky as John fought to keep his eyes open. As he stared into darkness, waiting for any disturbance, his mind turned to Sherlock.

He pictured Sherlock, standing in his cabin, his smooth skin highlighted by the sunlight filtering through the window. His hair shone as the beams caught it, and his face was cast in a landscape of shadow and light. John wanted to press his body against Sherlock and remove his clothes, piece by piece, mapping Sherlock's body with his lips. John had never felt this intensely for another human being, not even for James. Sherlock awakened a hunger in him that he couldn't satisfy.

This is how he passed the night, thinking of Sherlock while trying to remain awake. As dawn colored the sky, John realized there would be no attempt by Moran and stood. Frank and Percy blinked tiredly from their positions and John waved them over.

"Sorry," John said, pulling an apologetic face. "We're going to have to do this until we catch someone."

Frank and Percy grumbled halfheartedly, but nodded. John sent them back to the ranch house to get some rest . He briefly considered stopping by the schoolhouse to bid Sherlock good morning, but his exhaustion won out and he turned, instead, to his cabin for a few hours of sleep before setting up for another night of surveillance.

The second night went much as the first, as did the third. By the time morning dawned after the fourth night of no activity, John felt ready to give up. He was exhausted from his disrupted sleep schedule; he couldn't remember when he last ate and he'd only seen Sherlock in passing. He trudged back to the ranch house with Frank and Percy to give his report to Mycroft.

"No activity, again?" Mycroft arched an eyebrow in response to John's report.

John shook his head. "How would you like me to proceed, sir?"

Mycroft stayed silent for a long moment of contemplation before answering. "Do you feel up to one more night of surveillance?"

He didn't, but John couldn't let Mycroft know that. "Of course."

"Give it one more night. If there's no activity still, we'll begin forming a new plan."

John nodded and tipped his hat. "I'll be back this evening, then."

Mycroft must have sensed their exhaustion, because when John arrived for the night's last patrol, he found the dining room laid out with a proper dinner.

"I thought you all could use some bolstering up." Mycroft said, smiling.

Frank and Percy were already tucking in to baked ham and cornbread, so John pulled up a chair and gratefully dug in. Sherlock sat at his normal spot and John caught his eye and winked. As he'd hoped, Sherlock's cheeks flushed pink and he hid a smile behind his napkin.

A full stomach made the night's surveillance seem not as daunting. John settled himself in his hiding spot and prepared for another night of waiting. A cool breeze blew through, ruffling his hair beneath his hat. Off in the distance, he heard a coyote yawp to its mate. The normal sounds of nighttime acted as a lullaby and John felt his eyes close. He blinked them open, only to close them again. Each blink took longer and longer for him to open his eyes. In his mind, Sherlock waited for him, hand outstretched. John sunk deeper towards unconsciousness, his head dipping forward and his hat falling low over his eyes.

The crack of a twig startled him awake and John stiffened, his eyes flying open. It was pitch dark, the slim sliver of a new moon the only light source. Another crack sounded and then John heard harsh whispers.

"There she is!"

"Give me the knife. Seb, you take the rope."

"Why I gotta take the rope? You always do the cuttin'!"

"Shut up and do what I say!"

John peeked around the corner of his hiding spot and the dim light of the moon caught the silver edge of a knife as Sebastian Moran's brother took it and held it against the neck of a terrified cow.

"You'd best drop the knife, if you know what's good for you."

John stepped from behind his hiding spot, rifle raised to his shoulder. He saw Frank and Percy emerge from their own spots, rubbing sleep from their eyes and trying to look intimidating.

Sebastian Moran whirled around and glared at John. His brother turned, slower, a smile spreading across his face. He raised two fingers to his lips and let out an ear-piercing whistle that caused the cows nearby to break into a run across the corral.

John felt the crack of something against the back of his head and he pitched forward. He cried out as the heel of a boot ground against his fingers before leaving him floundering on the ground. Frank and Percy's yells could barely be heard over the pounding cattle hooves. John struggled to sit up. His fingers throbbed and he felt wetness at the back of his head. He squinted, trying to find sense in the chaos in front of him. Sebastian's brother whistled sharply again and two horses trotted from behind the tree where they'd been hidden. It all happened so quickly, amidst the chaos of cattle and Frank and Percy's struggles to get through the fray. Sebastian swung himself up on one of the horses and pulled his wife - for it was she who'd struck John from behind - up beside him. His brother mounted the other and they took off in a cloud of dust. Frank and Percy aimed rifles and shot at them, but the shots went wild and only agitated the cattle more.

It took more than an hour to get the cattle settled down. By the time they returned to the ranch house, all the lights were blazing and Doc Miller waited to take a look at John's head wound.

"The head always bleeds like a stuck pig," Miller said, peering at the back of John's head. "This isn't too deep, but I'm sure it hurt like the devil."

"I'll be fine." John snapped, but stayed still while Miller cleaned the wound and checked his fingers for any breaks.

"That didn't go as well as I'd hoped." Mycroft observed from the doorway.

"I didn't expect the wife to be with them," John said. "My mistake. I'll ride out to their homestead and see if that's where they fled."

"You'll do no such thing," Mycroft snapped. "Sheriff Watson, you're exhausted and injured. Pushing yourself will do you no good. Go home, get some sleep. I already sent two of my men to check the Moran homestead - abandoned. No sign of children or adults. I doubt that will soon change."

John's shoulders sagged in defeat and he nodded. "I suppose... well, I guess I'd be more likely to catch them if I was at my best."

"Indeed. I'll assign some of my men to patrol the corrals at night from now on, until we solve this."

John nodded. "Very well. If you need anything, I'll plan to be in the office tomorrow."

Head throbbing, fingers aching, and feeling thoroughly defeated, John returned to his cabin to sleep for the rest of the night. He would tackle the Moran problem head on when he felt fresher.

The result of focusing so much time on the Holmes ranch and apprehending the Morans meant that things had fallen behind at the sheriff's office. John arrived in the late morning, his head still aching dully, to put a dent in reports and return to his regular patrol. Shortly thereafter, a note arrived from Mycroft, requesting a meeting after he'd finished patrols.

John worked through the morning before putting aside his reports and getting up to stretch his stiff limbs. He went outside where he'd tied Azure and climbed up in her saddle.

"Let's go, girl," John clicked his tongue. "Time to get back to routine."

As he rode through Lockwood, he tipped his hat to several groups of townspeople. A cluster of young women looked at him steadily and then turned away, giggling. A man and his wife stared straight ahead, ignoring his greeting. John's brow furrowed in confusion as he rode past them. Drawing close to the general store, he caught sight of Sarah standing in the doorway. He lifted his hand in a wave, but she only lifted her chin haughtily and swept back inside. John felt worry gnaw in the pit of his stomach, but there wasn't anything he could do at the moment. He continued towards the outskirts of town to finish the rest of his patrol.

His patrol didn't go as smoothly as John hoped. He'd stopped to help one of the local farmers with a horse that wouldn't budge, only to find his offer rebuffed.

"Nah, I'll be fine." The farmer waved John off. "You go on about your day, Sheriff."

John protested, but met stony silence. No one he encountered during his patrol offered so much as a friendly smile and when he finally finished, he was starting to feel like the bad penny no one wanted turning up. He rode to the Holmes ranch, where Mycroft waited in his study.

"Sir," John took off his hat and nodded a greeting.

"Sheriff Watson. How's the head?"

"Sore, but I'll be fine."

"Good, good." Mycroft leaned back in his chair. "And your patrol today? Everything fine after your absence?"

"Er.... yes...." John said, hesitantly. "The townspeople seem a little... unfriendly... towards me. But there were no problems."

"Ah, I've heard a few rumors flying." Mycroft's hawk-like gaze pinned John to where he stood. "I'm sure you know what those rumors might address?"

John felt his heart sink to his boots. "Oh."

"Nothing more than the idle gossip of idle minds, of course."

"O-of course."

"Good." Mycroft glanced behind John. "Ah, Sherlock, you're home."

Sherlock edged into the study, his face drawn into a pout. "What's this about idle gossip?"

"Nothing more than a few rumors floating around about our dear Sheriff, here." Mycroft said. "But John's assured me there's no reason the gossip will ever be more than just that. I'm sure the townspeople will soon forget those rumors."

John glanced nervously between the two brothers and cleared his throat. "Could we address the Moran trouble, sir? How would you like me to proceed on that?"

Sherlock moved to peruse Mycroft's bookshelves. Mycroft watched him with narrowed eyes and then focused back to John.

"I fear we may have lost our chance, don't you?"

"I'm not sure I think they'd turn tail and run so quickly."

"Perhaps. But there's no sign of them at their homestead."

"So we wait? Bide our time?"

"I think the men I have on duty at night will suffice in scaring them away."

John wasn't sure he agreed with Mycroft, but he nodded. "Very well, then. Is there anything else?"

"Yes, actually. Since my brother's here, I'll share the good news with you both."

Sherlock turned, suspicion darkening his features. "What good news?"

"I've just had a telegram," Mycroft waved a slip of paper over his head. "From Mrs. Caroline Hooper. She and Molly are arriving in Lockwood earlier than planned."

The color drained from Sherlock's face completely and his back stiffened. "Molly... here? So soon?"

"Her mother seems to think everything is in place for the wedding." Mycroft turned to beam a too-bright smile at John. "We'll have a happy occasion to celebrate within a month's time, I should think."

Sherlock turned to John, his face ghostly. "Y-you know? About Molly?"

John, his stomach roiling and his head aching sharper than it had all day, nodded imperceptibly. "I suppose congratulations are in order... S-Sherlock."

John barely managed to choke the words out. He wanted to die, right there, on the spot. Mycroft looked between them, his grin taking on a malicious edge.

"John...." Sherlock murmured, taking one step towards him.

John shook his head and swallowed hard. "If there's nothing else, Mayor Holmes, I'll be off now?"

"Nothing of importance. Have a good evening, Sheriff Watson."

John took one last look at Sherlock, who looked as though he'd been slapped. "Good evening to both of you."

He turned sharply and left, practically breaking into a run once he cleared the office.

Sherlock turned slowly to face his brother. His blood felt like molten iron pumping through his veins. "What the devil was that?"

Mycroft's calm exterior didn't break. "Simply letting the Sheriff know his place."

"His place?!" Sherlock sputtered. "Who are you to dictate _his place_?"

"I'm the Mayor," Mycroft snapped. "And your brother. I have responsibilities to uphold."

"Hang your responsibilities, Mycroft!"

"I'll caution you to keep a civil tongue, Sherlock." Mycroft stood up and walked around his desk until he was nose to nose with Sherlock. "I'm sure you've heard the stories of what happens to men with... proclivities... such as your own and Sheriff Watson's."

Sherlock's face turned red and he swiped at his eyes, which threatened to overflow. "It's none of their damn business!"

"I think you'll find most people disagree with that." Mycroft's voice softened. "Really, Sherlock. Is it such a bad life I'm trying to provide?"

Sherlock's chest heaved as he stared his brother down. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. "No matter what you do, you'll never change me."

Mycroft sighed and stepped away. "Regardless, Miss Hooper will arrive with the next train. I expect you to do your duties, as I do my own."

Hatred bubbled up the back of Sherlock's throat and his fingers itched to wrap around Mycroft's neck and wring the calm superiority from him. Instead, he turned and stormed out of the office. As he left, Mycroft's voice followed him.

"If you leave the ranch tonight, I'll know."

"Ask me if I give a damn," Sherlock muttered, stalking towards the front door.

Gregory, Mycroft's right-hand man, stepped from the shadows and put himself between Sherlock and the front door. "You're not to leave tonight, Master Holmes."

Sherlock glanced away, squaring his shoulders, and when he turned back, he head-butted Gregory square in the face and kneed him in the groin. Gregory doubled over in shock and pain and Sherlock shoved him aside, pushing through the front door.

He took off at a sprint as he heard Mycroft and Gregory yelling behind him. Rather than taking the most direct route to John's cabin, he cut around the back of the ranch house and through a swath of trees. He could hear Gregory thundering in the wrong direction and he allowed a small smile to quirk at his lips. But he would have to hurry - they would know where he'd go and he had to reach John first.

_John,_ he thought, feeling desperation rise in his chest. _Will you believe me, when I tell you the truth?_

Aiming himself towards John's cabin, he ran through the brush, taking a shortcut that should have him there before Gregory reached John's cabin. And it would have worked, if he'd seen the rope stretched across his path. Instead, his toe caught the rope and he went flying, landing in the dirt so hard his breath whooshed out in one, great gasp. Sherlock groaned and turned on his back, squinting up at the tall figure that emerged from the trees.

"Well, well," Sebastian Moran said, grinning. "What have we here?"

"Looks to me like the Mayor's baby brother." Sebastian's brother stepped out from the opposite side of the path. "All on his own."

Sebastian's wife, Mary, came out of the trees right by Sherlock and grabbed at his arm, her nails digging into his skin until he cried out. "Tie him up, boys. Looks like we have some collateral to work with."


	10. Stand-Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John learns of Sherlock's fate and sets out to rescue him.

John paced the length of his tiny cabin, his stomach roiling with a mixture of emotions. Though he'd known about Sherlock's engagement to Miss Hooper, he had hoped they'd have more time before an actual wedding took place. John knew he should have left well enough alone and not allowed himself to get involved. When would he learn?

Even as he berated himself, a part of John defiantly resisted the guilt. Why should he deny himself happiness with Sherlock, when it was what both of them wanted?

His war between anger and grief came to an end with the pounding of footsteps on his porch. Someone banged on the door. John scrubbed at his face and crossed to answer it. One of Mycroft's men, the foreman - Gregory, John thought he was called - stood outside, a stormy expression on his face. A bruise formed over one of his eyebrows and John thought he could see the traces of blood beneath his nose.

John scowled. "I thought Mycroft was finished with me for the evening?"

"I'm here for Sherlock." Gregory said, his tone carrying an edge of anger.

"What about Sherlock?" John felt himself grow more belligerent with each passing second.

"Don't play games, Sheriff, I'm not in the mood." Gregory snapped. "I know he's here. Is he out in the barn?"

"Look, I don't know what you're talking about and frankly, I'm in no mood to argue with anyone. Sherlock isn't here. I haven't seen him since I left the ranch."

Gregory stepped back, momentarily speechless. "He... didn't show up a little while ago?"

"No, he didn't." John felt a tickle of worry up his spine as he watched Gregory. "What's going on?"

"Sherlock and Mycroft argued," Gregory began. "Sherlock left the ranch after... well, he became violent."

John raised his eyebrows and his eyes went to the bruise above Gregory's eye. "Sherlock did that?"

Gregory nodded, sheepishly. "I underestimated him. Didn't think he'd lash out like that. I would have sworn he headed to your place."

The tickle of worry increased. "Has anyone checked the schoolhouse?"

Gregory shook his head. "I'll go back and send someone to check."

"I'll come with you." John reached for his coat and hat as he followed Gregory out the door. "Did you check the woods around my place?"

"No, not yet," Gregory looked chagrined. "I expected him to be with you."

"Let's check now, before it's completely dark." John insisted.

They followed the path leading away from John's cabin, checking for signs of Sherlock. John felt his worry mount. Sherlock _would_ have sought him out. He was sure of it.

"Sherlock!" John framed his mouth with his hands and shouted, hearing his own voice echo back to him with no answer. "Sherlock!"

Halfway down the trail, John spotted a thatch of grass that had been smashed flat. He signaled Gregory and pointed it out. They stepped off the path and into the woods, following the flattened grass. John noted a few trees had bark hanging from their trunks, as though someone pulled at it.

When he spotted it, John sucked in his breath. "Look," he said, pointing at a branch of one of the trees.

Tied to the branch was a blue neck cloth, one that Sherlock had been wearing earlier that evening. Gregory reached up and untied it.

"Is it his?" Gregory asked.

"It is," John said. "I'm sure of it."

"What does it mean?"

John scanned the ground around them, noting the signs of a struggle. "I think it means Sherlock's been taken. He must have found a way to leave the neck cloth behind as a sign."

"The Morans?"

"It makes sense, doesn't it?" John asked. "They know we're on to them. Sherlock was probably headed to my cabin when he stumbled on them. They probably thought it was their lucky day."

"What do we do?"

"Let's head back to the ranch. Mycroft will want to know about this."

John bade Gregory to go ahead of him while he jogged back to his cabin to saddle Azure. For good measure, he grabbed his rifle and his Colt. Then he urged Azure into a gallop as he headed for the ranch.

John hadn't seen Mycroft look so pale as he did when John entered the library. Gregory stood nearby, a grim look on his face.

"Mayor," John nodded, unable to keep a touch of frost from his voice.

"We've received... a message." Mycroft began, holding up a creased piece of paper." One of the Moran children showed up at the ranch. The staff didn't realize who he was, so he simply gave them the note and left."

John hurried to Mycroft's side. "What does it say?"

"Gone to Crow territory. $5,000 or your brother won't make it back. Send the sheriff with the money."

Mycroft held out his hand, palm open, to reveal one raven lock of hair, ends uneven from where it had been sliced from Sherlock's head.

John felt his stomach drop and he stumbled back a step. "D-do you have that kind of money?"

"I do," Mycroft said, his tone reserved and his expression giving away nothing. "Will you help me, Sheriff?"

"Of course," John said, quickly. "I'll do anything I need to."

Mycroft's whole body seemed to sag in relief. He ran a shaking hand over his face and said, his voice now full of emotion, "I feared you might hold a grudge against me."

"This isn't about you. It's about Sherlock."

"Yes, yes... you're right." Mycroft glanced out of the window, distracted by movement. "Ah, this should be the money."

One of Mycroft's men entered, carrying a leather bag John assumed was filled with banknotes. Mycroft took the bag and dismissed his man. He held the bag out to John.

"Will you go, immediately?" Mycroft's voice held a note of pleading.

John nodded, taking the bag. "The dark will help me stay hidden. I'll ride through the night until I find them. I promise, Mycroft. I'll bring him back."

"Take Gregory with you."

John looked at Gregory and then back at Mycroft, shaking his head. "I appreciate the offer, but another body will only slow me down. Besides, the note said to send me."

Mycroft acquiesced and John went outside. Night had fully descended, but the moon above shone bright and John trusted Azure's footing to keep him steady. He secured the bag to his saddle and mounted his horse. He gave one last tip of his hat to Mycroft and Gregory before urging Azure into a fast trot towards town and the outskirts beyond.

The night brought about a hush over everything as John rode, pushing Azure as fast he dared without exhausting her before his journey ended. As he crossed into Crow, he skirted known areas where the Crow set up camp, preferring to avoid any confrontation if he could. Though the natives here weren't hostile, he wanted to reach Sherlock as soon as he could.

John might have missed Sebastian Moran, if not for the flash of white teeth in the moonlight as he stepped out from a copse of trees. They'd hidden themselves against a steep mountain bordered by trees. Sebastian's grin didn't reach his flinty eyes as he appraised John.

"Sheriff," Sebastian said, sucking at his teeth. "Mighty nice of you to get here so soon."

John's hand rested on the Colt at his hip. "Where's Sherlock?"

"The Holmes boy? Oh, he's back there, with my brother. Don't you worry about him. You brought our money?"

"I did, but you won't see any of it until I know Sherlock is safe."

Sebastian blew out a puff of air. "That leaves us at a mighty impasse, don't it?"

Moving slowly, John slid off of Azure, standing and facing Sebastian. He was taller than John by at least six inches, but John stared him down regardless. He pushed his coat aside to show off the gun at his waist.

"Oh, that's a pretty piece you've got there." Sebastian winked. "I've got one of those, myself."

"No more games, Moran. No Sherlock, no money."

Sebastian narrowed his eyes, but after a few moments, he lifted two fingers and beckoned behind him. The sounds of a scuffle reached John's ears and then Sebastian's brother emerged from the trees, hauling a struggling Sherlock with him. Sherlock's face had a long scratch on one cheek and a bruise bloomed on his chin. A ragged clump of hair stuck out from his scalp where they'd sliced a curl for the ransom note. His clothes were torn and dirty, but his eyes shone with defiance. When he spotted John, his mouth fell open slightly.

"J-John," he whispered. "What are you doing here?"

"Hush up," Sebastian's brother poked sharply at Sherlock's side.

"It's going to be okay, Sherlock." John said calmly. "Mycroft sent me to bring you back."

"Take him back into the trees, Jim." Sebastian hissed. "Until we get the money."

"Oh, no." John held up a hand to stop Jim from dragging Sherlock away. "He stays in my sight until we finish this."

John stared Sebastian down once more until Sebastian was the first to flinch away. He glanced back at Jim and gave a small shrug. "Keep him here, then."

Turning back, he grinned again. "Now, Sheriff Watson... the money?"

John turned, keeping his eyes on Jim and Sebastian. Without looking, he unfastened the bag he'd tied to Azure's saddle. From his left, he heard the scuttle of gravel - the only warning of a third person. John whipped around, drawing his Colt and clipping Mary on the temple as she appeared from her hiding place. She had a gun drawn and a wicked smile on her face, until John knocked her back with his blow.

Chaos erupted, Sebastian and Jim both drawing guns on John. A cacophony of voices shouted over each other as John ordered them all to drop their weapons. John searched for - and found - Sherlock, nearly forgotten. He edged against the mountain, trying to get closer to John.

John held his hand up to silence the yelling. Mary struggled to her feet, glaring darkly at John and spitting on the dirt near his boots. "You gonna let him do that to me, Seb?"

"Shut up," Sebastian snapped. "We had a plan. What the hell were you doing?"

"I was getting the money faster than you two oafs were," Mary hissed. "And we could have had a horse at the same time."

"Quiet, all of you!" John roared, his gun still trained on Sebastian and Jim. "You'll take my horse over my dead body. Now, are we going to finish this peacefully?"

Sebastian glared and kept his gun raised. "All I want is my fair share. Mycroft _owes_ me this."

"Last I heard, you stole from Mycroft Holmes. He owes you nothing." John growled.

From the corner of his eye, John saw Mary leap to action. She tried to knock John off his feet, but he deflected her. Her next movement was to grab for Sebastian's gun, squeezing the trigger. The bullet went wide, ricocheting off a rock. Jim took this cue to start firing and John fired back in defense. For a moment, the air filled with gunsmoke and ricocheting bullets. When the fight was over, both Sebastian and Jim lay on the ground, dead. Mary let out a keening wail when she realized what had happened. She threw her body at Sebastian's, scrabbling at his clothes and crying wordlessly. John's hands shook as he holstered his gun. He patted himself down, making sure no bullets had clipped him in the fight. Next, he glanced to Azure and saw Sherlock had led the horse away during the gunfight. They both stood near some scrub brush, Sherlock's eyes wide and Azure tossing her head and snorting.

"Okay?" John asked, gruffly.

Sherlock nodded and John relaxed. He turned back to Mary, still sobbing on her husband's chest.

"This didn't have to happen this way." John said, quietly.

"You... you murderer!" Mary spat at him, her eyes hot with fury. "You killed him! You killed them both!"

"I defended myself." John said, steadily. "Will you come back with me, peacefully?"

"You might as well kill me, too."

"That's not going to happen."

"I ain't coming with you any other way."

"What about your children?" John asked. "Where are they? Who will care for them?"

Mary's thin shoulder raised slightly as she stood. John noted one hand stayed hidden behind her back and he tensed.

"I sent them to stay with an aunt. They'll be fine."

"So what's your plan then, Mrs. Moran? Seems like you have nowhere to go."

Mary rubbed her nose against her sleeve and brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. "This place has done nothing but suck me dry. I'm fixing to start over, and I won't let some plucky Sheriff stop me."

She withdrew her hand, leveling Sebastian's pistol at John once again. When John twitched towards her gun, she hissed wordlessly, stopping him.

"I'm walking out of here, Sheriff. And I'll take that $5,000, if you please."

John stiffened his spine, prepared to fight, but behind him, he heard Sherlock.

"Give it to her, John. Please. Don't risk your life over this. My brother has more where that came from."

"See? He's the one with the brains. Hand it over." Mary held out her free hand, never lowering the gun.

Giving in, John bent and picked up the bag, which had fallen on the ground during the fight. He held it out to Mary and she grabbed it from him in one lightning-quick move.

"Glad you have some sense in you, Sheriff." Mary backed away slowly, the gun still trained on John. "I'll ask you to not bother following me. I know ways of hiding myself and you'll never find me."

John's eyes stayed focused on the pistol pointed at him until Mary melted into the trees and was gone, as if she'd never been there. John sagged, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. Behind him, he heard Sherlock rush to his side.

"Are you okay, John? You didn't get hit?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine." John laughed, grasping at Sherlock's arms. "What about you? Did they hurt you? Are you all right?"

"Nothing more than a few scratches and bruises that will heal only too soon." Sherlock gathered John into a tight embrace. "I was so frightened when the guns went off. I thought I'd lost you."

John hugged Sherlock back, taking comfort in his solid form, living and breathing and thoroughly safe. "It's all right now, we're both all right."

Pulling back, he holstered his Colt and clicked his tongue at Azure, who cantered cautiously towards them.

"I want you to ride back to the ranch. Tell Mycroft what happened. Azure knows the way and it's almost dawn. You'll be safe."

"You're coming with me?" Sherlock furrowed his brow in confusion.

"I've got to track Mary. Bring her in."

"Like hell you do!" Sherlock said, alarm in his voice. "Leave her to the wilderness, John!"

"That would be abandoning my post," John insisted.

"I'll come with you."

"No, you won't."

"Then you aren't going." Sherlock's chin set stubbornly and he reached out to take John's hand. "Together. Or nothing."

John glanced helplessly to the trees. Jim and Sebastian's body lay motionless on the ground. Finally, John turned back, nodding. "All right. Back to the ranch. Together."

"No, not back to the ranch."

"What?"

Sherlock brushed away frustrated tears. "Take me back to your cabin, John. Let us have a few hours together, before you go tell Mycroft what happened."

"Sherlock," John murmured. "We can't. Someone needs to collect these bodies and my reports...."

"They can wait," Sherlock pulled John to him, pressing his cheek against John's, his lips brushing against John's ears. "Please, tell me they can wait."

Feeling desperation matching Sherlock's build in his chest, John nodded. "Okay, it can wait. Let's just go back. We can head to Mycroft's when the sun's up."

He helped Sherlock mount Azure and then followed, settling behind him. They set a steady pace, though one not as frenzied as John's original journey. While they rode, they spoke softly to each other.

"I didn't mean for it to happen that way," Sherlock whispered. "My engagement, I mean. The way Mycroft told you. I'm so sorry, John."

"He told me... before." John admitted. "I think he knows. About us. Or suspects. He obviously wants to protect you."

"I don't need his protection," Sherlock said, vehemently. "I make up my own mind."

"It's dangerous for us, though." John pointed out. "I think the townspeople know... about me. I think there are rumors. No one wants to look me in the eye or speak to me. I may be drummed out of town, Sherlock. You're better off leading a normal life. Or at least pretending."

"I will not live a lie!" Sherlock raised his voice. "And I won't let them drive you away, John. Not when I've just found you."

They stayed quiet for a moment before Sherlock spoke again, his voice steadier. "Molly is... she's my best friend, John. And she knows the type of man I am. The marriage was never going to be anything but in name only. She... she'll like you. I know she will."

John absorbed this information in silence while Sherlock continued talking, his words falling as fast as a galloping horse.

"Mycroft has no business telling you anything about me. He thinks he knows me, but he doesn't know my heart. My heart is yours, John Watson. Tonight, I thought I might die, never knowing the touch of your hands on my skin. My heart is yours, and I want to give my body to you, as well."

John pressed his face against Sherlock's back and squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He'd not dared to hope for this eventuality and now, here it was, being offered to him willingly. Eagerly, in fact.

"Sherlock," he whispered. "I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do."

"But don't you see? I want this. I want to go back to your cabin and I want to lay with you, as men and women do."

"I might... I'm afraid I might hurt you."

"I know you won't." John could hear the smile in Sherlock's voice. "I know you are gentle and kind. And I know that, just as my heart is yours, your heart is mine."

John felt joy wash over him as he heard the sincerity in Sherlock's words. "My heart, my body, my soul... it's all yours, Sherlock. I think I would have given it to you after our first meeting. I saw you and it was as if your soul spoke to mine. As though we were old friends, meeting again."

"I felt the same." Sherlock whispered.

They'd drawn up to the edge of the Crow lands. Instead of aiming for the ranch, John pointed Azure towards his cabin and urged her forward.

"We can show each other love," John began. "Without lying with each other as men and women do. I think... for this first time, I think that would be better."

Sherlock seemed to relax against him as he nodded. "Perhaps you're right."

They arrived at the cabin shortly after that. The sky lightened as dawn approached. John guided Azure to her stall and rubbed her down after he took off the saddle and stowed his rifle. He dumped a can of feed in her trough and as he stepped out of her stall, Sherlock came up behind him and wrapped his slim arms around John, burying his face in John's shoulder and mouthing kisses along his neck.

John grinned and turned around, taking Sherlock's face in his hands and pressing a kiss to his lips. His hands went to Sherlock's shirt, fumbling at the buttons as he stripped it away. Sherlock, too, tugged at John's shirt, even as he swallowed John's kisses hungrily. John stood back, looking at Sherlock standing in front f him, shirtless.

Sherlock's pale skin practically glowed. Wiry muscles corded his arms as he self-consciously shielded his chest. He glanced away, a blush suffusing his cheeks.

"No, don't," John said, softly, pulling at his arms. "Don't cover yourself like that. You're stunning, you know that? You're the most beautiful man I've ever laid eyes on."

Sherlock looked at him through his lashes and his blush deepened. John traced a finger down Sherlock's arm, frowning at a bruise forming on his bicep.

"Did they hurt you?" He asked, repeating his question from earlier.

Sherlock shook his head. "Not badly. Just bruises."

"I'm glad I killed them," John spat. "If they'd done anything to you...."

He trailed off when Sherlock pressed closer, kissing him again. Sherlock trailed kisses along his jaw, sucking at John's neck as his hands roamed over John's chest. John's cock ached, hard, straining against his trousers. His fingers went to his waistband as he fumbled at the fastenings. Sherlock's hands covered his, nimble fingers deftly unbuttoning the trousers and pushing them over his hips, freeing John's erection. Sherlock's eyes grew wide as he took in John's nude body. John chuckled softly.

"Are you sure you still want this?" John asked. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"I want it more than anything," Sherlock insisted.

His hands went to his own trousers, but John stopped him. He slowly unbuttoned Sherlock's trousers and helped him step out of them. Sherlock's prick was rigid and flushed red, evidence of his arousal. John pressed closer, their cocks rubbing together and sending a frisson of pleasure through them both. Sherlock groaned, his head thrown back. John marveled at the stretch of pale neck, the pulse of a vein at Sherlock's throat. He tongued at the pulse point, feeling Sherlock's heartbeat in his mouth, as he ground his hips against Sherlock's. John reached around and gripped the flesh of Sherlock's ass, massaging them as he continued to rut slowly against Sherlock. He pushed Sherlock gently backwards until they both tumbled into a soft pile of hay next to Azure's stall. Sherlock squeaked in surprise and then his laughter joined John's.

"Care for a roll in the hay, Sheriff?" Sherlock teased.

His laughter died as John straddled him, his lips finding one nipple and sucking it between his teeth. Sherlock gasped as John scraped his teeth against the small bud, sending electric pulses through his body.

"Oh...ah!" Sherlock laced his fingers in John's hair and arched his back towards John's mouth.

John moved to Sherlock's other nipple, giving it the same treatment. Sherlock's cock was hard beneath him, pressing into his belly. He moved down Sherlock's body, pausing to press kisses against the soft skin of his stomach. Sherlock made a sound that was half giggle, half moan and John grinned against his flesh, nipping at the skin lightly with his teeth. He hovered over Sherlock's cock, mouth close to the head, but not touching. He breathed a puff of warm breath over the erection and it jumped while Sherlock made a strangled noise and his hands clutched at fistfuls of hay.

Lowering himself slowly, so slowly, John opened his mouth and licked the head of Sherlock's cock softly, barely touching it.

"God!" Sherlock cried, his hips bucking.

John smiled and his hands slotted in the grooves of Sherlock's waist as he finally took Sherlock's prick in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the head as he swallowed as much of his length as he could muster. One hand wrapped around the base of Sherlock's cock, stroking in time with his oral ministrations. His other hand moved to Sherlock's balls, palming them against the work-roughened skin of his hand.

Sherlock made mewling sounds as John continued. He was in constant motion, his head turning, his back arching, his hips bucking to meet John's strokes.

"John, please!" Sherlock moaned. "Please, I want to give you pleasure like this, too. Oh, God!"

John had tongued against Sherlock's slit, tasting the liquid that oozed from the tip. He took his mouth off Sherlock's cock and moved back to press against his lips. John took Sherlock's hand and guided it to both their erections. He lined them up together, parallel, and wrapped Sherlock's fingers around them. Then he covered Sherlock's hand with his own and set a slow, gentle stroke as he undulated his hips against Sherlock's. Their cocks rubbed together, creating friction, and Sherlock threw back his head again, wordlessly crying out. John's own voice joined Sherlock's as pleasure soared in him. Sherlock thrust against him, finding the same rhythm as John. They rutted against each other and John felt desire unravel in his belly as he neared the edge.

"Sherlock, love," He gasped. "Look at me, won't you?"

Sherlock's blue eyes found his own, hot with desire and a moment later, John cried out as he came, cock spurting and jerking in their hands.

"Ah....ah!" Sherlock arched his back as John's orgasm propelled him to his own. 

They rode the last waves together and then John rolled off Sherlock to lay by his side. The first rays of sunlight pierced the sky outside as they caught their breath, their bodies sticky with the evidence of their lovemaking.

"Was that...was that okay?" Sherlock asked, shakily. He rested a hand against John's waist, fingers lightly massaging the skin.

John smiled at Sherlock and brushed one of his curls behind his ear. "It was fantastic, love. Brilliant."

Sherlock blushed. "I like it when you call me 'love'."

"Then I will, for the rest of our days." John whispered, kissing Sherlock's palm, and then his wrist.

Sherlock frowned, but John shook his head to quiet him.

"No, don't think of it right now. We'll make it work, somehow. Won't we?"

The wrinkle between Sherlock's brow smoothed and his smile returned. "We will. We have to. I don't want to imagine a life without you, John Watson."

"Nor I, Sherlock Holmes."

John pulled Sherlock closer, bidding him to turn so he could fit them together like the piece of a puzzle. He snuggled close, their bodies slotting together as though they were made for each other. He sleepily stroked Sherlock's hair as they held each other in the hay.

"We should probably go back to the ranch." John murmured, his eyes growing heavy.

"Can't we have just a little longer?" Sherlock asked as he, too, felt himself slipping closer to sleep.

They held each other and dozed lightly as the sun rose and the day began. Soon, though, John could no longer delay the inevitable. He clambered to his feet, pulling Sherlock with him, and they cleaned themselves as best they could, and then donned their clothing.

"Back to the ranch, then," John said.

Sherlock reached out to trace his finger along John's jaw. "We won't be separated for long. I'll make sure of it."

"We'll still have to be careful, you know."

"I know," Sherlock nodded. "We will be. But we'll find a way to make it work. You said we would?"

John nodded. "We will."

"A promise, then?"

John captured Sherlock's hand in his, pressing his lips against the smooth palm. "A promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, finally! The story earns its explicit rating! ;)


	11. Going to the Chapel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock prepares for his wedding, while John wrestles with his conflicted emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Please be sure to check out the lovely cover art made for this fic by BlueArcana!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4577355)

"Thank you, Sheriff Watson. I can't begin to express my gratitude towards you." Mycroft said, clasping John's hand.

They stood in his study. Nearby, Sherlock sat in a chair while Doc Miller examined his cuts and bruises.

"I couldn't stand by while Sherlock was hurt," John said, staring intently at Mycroft. "I hope you'll understand why I felt I needed to resort to violence to end it."

"I spoke briefly with Sherlock when you arrived. He's explained everything. I've sent my men to collect the bodies, though I doubt there are any next of kin to pay for a funeral. Mrs. Moran's aunt was found and the children appear safe and sound. Her aunt seems to be cut of entirely different cloth than Mrs. Moran and I daresay the children will be better off under her care."

John nodded, unsure of what to say.

"You'll be commended, of course," Mycroft continued. "I think I can find some sort of award to give you. Perhaps at this year's Independence Day celebration."

"Oh, err...." John flushed. "I don't think that's necessary...."

"Nonsense. I'll have my secretary make a note of it so that I don't forget."

Mycroft turned to Sherlock and the doctor. "Dr. Miller? Everything sound?"

Doc Miller smiled as he put away his things. "A-yup. Superficial bumps and bruises, a few scratches. Nothing that won't heal. Your brother's a lucky man."

"I told you I was fine," Sherlock snapped at Mycroft and stood up, straightening the cuffs of his shirt. "I might remind you that there's still unfinished business to discuss."

"Sherlock, not now." John said, softly.

Sherlock turned to John and glared. "Yes, now, John. If my brother hadn't been such a stubborn jackanape, I'd not have reason to be where I was when Moran took me."

"I merely want to look after your---" Mycroft began, before Sherlock raised his voice and interrupted.

"I know what you 'merely' want to do, Mycroft, but I think you'll find that I am an adult and fully capable of taking care of myself as well as making decisions for myself. John is my... well, he's a very close friend, and I won't allow you to keep me from him."

John felt his face grow hot as he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Meanwhile, Doc Miller watched the exchange, open-mouthed, his doctor's bag forgotten at his feet.

"What, pray tell, do you think your new fiancé will say about that?" Mycroft hissed, stepping up to his brother so that they were nose to nose.

"Why don't you _ask_ her when she arrives?" Sherlock spat. "She is, after all, a woman with her own mind and opinions."

"Sir, if I may speak?" John interjected, hoping to cool the argument. When Sherlock moved to protest, he silenced him with a raised finger. "I understand you're concerned about your brother. I do. I respect that. But it's true, what Sherlock said - he's a very dear friend. We've found common ground, you see. I ask you to let him make up his own mind about what he wants to do. I think if you place a small amount of trust in him, he might surprise you with his resourcefulness."

Sherlock dipped his head, a small smile curling his lips, at John's words. Mycroft studied them both before sighing deeply.

"I find myself outvoted," he said, defeated. "I'll warn you both now to be cautious, no matter what you do. There is nothing this town enjoys more than wagging their tongues and spreading gossip."

"We'll be careful," John said. "And I'm sure the good doctor will keep this confidential, as well?"

Mycroft and Sherlock turned, surprised, having forgotten that Doc Miller listened in on their conversation. The old man's face reddened and he fumbled to pick up his bag before standing up.

"I must be going," he said. "Don't have a clue what you're all talking about and it's none of my never mind, as it is."

Mycroft left to walk the doctor out and John turned to Sherlock. He crossed the study and took Sherlock's hand in his.

"Are you really all right?" He asked, studying Sherlock's face. "It's been a long couple of days for you."

"I'm fine, John," Sherlock said, kissing John's knuckles. "And we're fine. I can't wait for you to meet Molly."

"I hope this goes as you think it will," John cautioned.

"It will. I know it will!" Sherlock grinned.

They had a few minutes longer before Mycroft returned, carefully averting his eyes when he saw Sherlock and John standing closely together. He cleared his throat and Sherlock reluctantly let go of John's hand.

"Sheriff, it's been a long night for you. Perhaps you should spend the day at home, resting?" Mycroft asked, pointedly.

Sherlock tried to argue, but John silenced him again, this time with a look. "You're right, Mayor. I'm exhausted and I'm sure Sherlock is, as well. I'll bid you both a good day, shall I? Sherlock, I'll speak with you on the morrow, I'm sure."

Saying his good bye, John left for his cabin, his eyes heavy and his body aching from the previous night. When he was back in his cabin and dozing off in his bed, his head filled with memories of Sherlock rather than the nightmares that usually surfaced in his dreams.

Convincing Mycroft Holmes to change his mind proved a simple task compared to changing the minds of the townspeople of Lockwood. Over the next week, John found himself shunned by everyone except the residents of Holmes' Ranch. His job became a difficult and unpleasant one because of the hostility he encountered. He wasn't the only one, either. Sherlock reported that half his students no longer attended school and when he attempted to visit parents, he wasn't allowed in their houses. At Sunday service, they both noticed glares and whispers whenever they passed by. John grew angrier and angrier as each day passed this way.

"It's not fair to you!" He cried. They were at the lakeside; Sherlock sat, back against a tree, sketching John in his journal while John stretched out near the lake and skimmed rocks over its surface. "I never meant them to be unkind to you!"

"It's all right," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. "What do I care what they think? They've always thought me odd."

"But your students!"

"In truth, I am sad that so many children are missing out on an education because of their parents' ignorance. But I cannot force them to bend to my thinking. I can only teach the children who still remain and hope that I make a difference in their lives."

"I should just go," John said sorrowfully. "I could leave and things would go back to normal. Maybe go further West, to California. I hear they need laborers on the docks."

"You'll do nothing of the sort!" Sherlock burst out. "I won't allow it! John, do you know what I'd be without you? Nothing!"

"You know I feel the same about you," John insisted. "But I don't want to make life harder than it already is."

"I'd rather endure the ridicule of strangers than live with only half of my soul." Sherlock said, scooting closer to John and brushing a hand softly against his cheek. "I love you, John."

John felt his breath snatched away with those words. He pressed a hand over Sherlock's hand at his cheek, turning and pressing his lips against Sherlock's fingers. "I love you, too," he whispered. "Isn't it ridiculous? To love someone so quickly?"

"No, I don't think it's ridiculous at all," laughed Sherlock. "I think it's fate. I knew your heart the moment we met, just as you knew mine."

John let their argument drop as Sherlock abandoned his drawing to kiss him senseless, nearly toppling them both into the lake.

They had two perfect weeks with each other. They stole moments together in between working - afternoons at the lake, evening strolls around the ranch, and time alone in John's cabin. Sherlock acted as though he were a starving man presented with a feast each time he found himself alone with John, and John was happy to act as the main course. They grew familiar with each other's bodies, finding that they slotted together easily, like a lock and its matching key.

But John knew it could only last so long. Two weeks after he and Sherlock first coupled together, Mrs. Caroline Hooper and her daughter, Molly, arrived on the train. John wasn't there when they arrived, but one of Mycroft's men arrived at the sheriff's office with a message, hastily scrawled, from Sherlock.

_Molly here. Must play nice this evening, so I won't see you. I'll introduce you tomorrow. Love, S._

John felt his heart drop and knew that their easy weeks together were now at a close. That night, he went home alone and willed himself to sleep, only to have the nightmares return and wake him in early hours of the evening.

He went on his morning patrol with a heavy heart and pall of gloom hanging over his head. The hard stare he received from Sarah, who swept the walk outside the general store, did nothing to improve his mood.

He'd expected to meet Molly in a formal occasion at the ranch, but instead he was surprised when he arrived at the sheriff's office to find a young woman with a sweet, open face and an easy smile waiting for him outside.

"Sheriff Watson?" She asked. She wore a red gingham dress. Her dark brown hair was braided and tucked beneath a cream-colored bonnet. "It is Sheriff Watson, isn't it?"

"Yes, ma'am." John dismounted Azure and secured her reins to the post outside his office. "How many I help you?"

The woman extended a gloved hand, which John took briefly in greeting. "I'm Miss Molly Hooper. Sherlock's fiancé... and friend."

John's mouth formed a small "o" shape as he tried to think of what to say. But Molly took his silence as an invitation to continue speaking.

"Sherlock's told me ever so much about you," she said, her words rushing to spill out of her mouth. "But knowing how he is, I doubt he's told you anything of myself. I've come to set your mind at ease. C-could we walk? While I speak with you?"

John shook himself from his surprise and nodded. "Of course. Shall we?"

He offered his arm to Molly and she took it as they began walking.

"You see, I grew up with Sherlock. Our families were neighbors and our mothers were friends until Sherlock's mother passed away. So I've had many years getting to know who Sherlock really is." Molly continued. "And I suppose that seems like an ideal situation for romance to blossom - or at least, that's what my mother has always believed. But the truth is, I _know_ Sherlock... I know he wouldn't ever be happy with me. Not that he doesn't love me or think highly of me, but it's as a friend only."

"And you're... all right with this?" John asked, cautiously.

"I know I'm supposed to believe it's a terrible sin," Molly said, laughing softly. "I'm supposed to be scandalized, aren't I? But I simply don't believe that's so. There are a great many things wrong with this world, Sheriff Watson, but love is never one of them. That's what I believe."

"I appreciate the sentiment, Miss Hooper. But I'm not sure what it all means?"

"What it means is that I know who Sherlock is and I know how much he cares for you. He wrote me about you, did you know that?" Molly asked, and John shook his head before she continued. "Well, he did. He wrote about your kindness and understanding. What I'm saying, Sheriff Watson, is that I won't stand in the way. I've offered to marry Sherlock in name only, so that he can be happy."

"You would sacrifice so much, for a friend?"

"I don't think it a sacrifice," Molly stated, her face growing fierce. "I'll do it, also, for my freedom. Just as I know who Sherlock is, he also knows that I am not the type of woman to be meek and mild. I don't want a marriage where I'm expected to stay home all day and raise children. Being wed to Sherlock will give me an opportunity to find out what I'd really like to do with my life."

"What do you think that is?"

Molly's eyes sparked. "I want to _learn_ , Sheriff Watson! I want to learn everything! I want to study and travel and see the world and have adventures!"

John laughed, caught up in the young woman's joy. "Those are bold plans, indeed."

"But don't you see?" Molly turned to stand in front of John, taking his hands in hers. "This marriage arrangement will give both Sherlock and myself the opportunities we want. So I came today to introduce myself and assure you that I don't intend to keep you from him."

John looked away, biting his lip, before he turned back and nodded. "I appreciate that, Miss Hooper. I appreciate your understanding. Sherlock is lucky to have a friend such as yourself."

Molly grinned and they turned to walk back to the sheriff's office. They chatted for a little longer, exchanging pleasantries, before John bid her good bye and returned to his office. The spark of hope in his chest grew, warming him to his core.

The hope flickered slightly over the next two weeks, when John barely saw Sherlock or Molly. Preparations for the wedding kept them both occupied and John found that he didn't feel welcome at the ranch with Mrs. Caroline Hooper presiding over the details. He met Molly's mother that first Sunday when he went to church service. She was a tall, imperious woman who looked down her nose at John and acted as though it was his privilege to shake her hand. John caught Sherlock's eye only briefly before Caroline whisked both Molly and Sherlock away to speak with the preacher about their upcoming service.

John hadn't expected to receive a wedding invitation, but surprisingly, one showed up at his office a week before the ceremony. Sherlock's doing, he was sure. Or perhaps Molly. Either way, John tucked the expensive, creamy paper in his desk drawer, contemplating whether he could watch the man he loved marry another woman - even if it was mostly for show.

Meanwhile, the townspeople remained hostile to John and he found himself longing to escape. Several times he thought he should leave in the night and go to California like he'd told Sherlock. But he couldn't bring himself to do it - he wasn't sure he could break Sherlock's heart that way and he knew his own would shatter as well.

The day of the dawned sunny and warm - a perfect day for a celebration. John woke and stared at his best suit that he'd laid out the night before. Instead of putting it on, however, he rose and donned his work clothes.

 _I can't._ He thought, going out to the stable to saddle Azure.

He'd go on patrol, instead. Then perhaps work on paperwork at his office. He couldn't watch Sherlock marry another. Not when he wanted so badly to be the one slipping a ring on Sherlock's finger.

As the morning progressed, John found himself checking his pocket watch. The guests had surely arrived at the church. He knew the entire town had been invited - the occasion of the Mayor's brother's wedding was an auspicious one for the small town.

He pressed onward. Now the wedding party would arrive. The ceremony would start soon.

The closer the hour drew, the more desperate John felt. Finally, he could no longer take it. He rose, grabbing his hat and jamming it on his head. He didn't bother taking Azure. Instead, he walked - and then ran - towards the church. As he approached, he could hear the organ music inside playing the wedding march. Was it too late? He stood outside the doors, torn. He heard the preacher begin inside, talking about love and family and commitment.

John paced outside, unsure of what to do. But as he listened, he heard the preacher say: "If any of you has reasons why these two should not be married, speak now or forever hold your peace."

Knowing it was now or never, John pushed through the church doors, crashing them open and standing at the end of the aisle.

The entire congregation turned as one. Sherlock and Molly stood at the front, hands clasped in front of the preacher. Molly wore a simple white gown and veil, while Sherlock was clad in a light grey morning suit and a neck cloth the exact color his eyes.

The church had gone silent, but for a few gasps from some of the guests. John stood, frozen, unsure of what to say.

"John?" Sherlock asked, his soft voice easily heard in the silence of the church.

This one utterance broke the silence and Caroline Hooper stood up, face red. "What is the meaning of this? How dare you interrupt the ceremony?"

Mycroft stood next, trying to placate Caroline. "I'm sure there's a simple explanation, Mrs. Hooper. Please, calm yourself."

Voice came in a flood; the townspeople yelled and jeered at John. "What do you want?" "Come to ruin the day?" "Haven't you done enough to the poor boy?" "You should be ashamed of yourself, with your unnatural urges!"

John felt panic rise as the taunts and accusations swirled around him. Then, a loud, clear voice dominated the others.

"WILL YOU ALL BE QUIET, FOR GOD'S SAKE?"

Sherlock stood at the pulpit, having shoved the preacher aside. His face was stormy and he glared at everyone as they fell into a grumbling silence.

"You say that Sheriff Watson should be ashamed of himself," he began, his voice hot with anger. "But I say it is all of you who should be ashamed! Has he not been a good citizen of this town?"

He turned to Sarah, fixing her with a glare. "John Watson saved the lives of your sister and her family. Without him, they might have died!"

Sarah opened her mouth, but Sherlock made a slashing motion with his hand and she closed it again. He turned and eyed another man.

"Ezra Cassidy, didn't Sheriff Watson help you get your wagon out of the mud during the spring? And Esther Parkhurst, didn't he help you when your husband was ill?"

Sherlock gestured to the entire congregation. "Is there one person in this church who hasn't been helped by John Watson?"

No one moved or spoke and Sherlock continued. "John Watson is a good, kind man, who has done nothing but protect this town, only to have his name dragged through the mud. Over what?"

An old woman with a wizened face piped up, her voice quavering with anger. "Sin, that's what! The man's a sinner!"

Sherlock whirled to point a finger at her. "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone, Mrs. Jeremiah."

John stepped forward and raised his voice. "It's okay, Sherlock. I'll... I'll leave."

"By God, you won't!" Sherlock boomed. "I won't have my friend... no, the man I _love_ , leave because of ignorance."

There were gasps at this declaration and a murmur ran through the church.

"That's right." Sherlock said, holding his head up proudly. "I say I love him, and I do. Perhaps you all think it a sin. I know that I could be put to death for saying such things, so I ask you all. Will you hang me?"

His question was met with uneasy silence as the crowd shifted in their seats.

"I thought so." Sherlock seemed pleased. "I have always been this way. I have always been different. All of you know this, I know that you do. And yet you've allowed me to teach your children. Has any harm come to them? Are any of them worse off?"

A few of the congregation muttered "No," shaking their heads.

"No, they are growing into fine young men and women with proper educations, because of me." Sherlock said. "And we live in a town that is safe and protected because of Sheriff Watson. So I ask all of you, what is so sinful and unnatural, that the two of us should be denied our love?"

Sherlock turned to Mycroft, "I know you've tried to protect me, brother. My whole life you have and I thank you for it, but surely you realize now that being different does not mean that I am a lesser man?"

Mycroft swallowed, his eyes red-rimmed as he looked directly at Sherlock. "No, Sherlock. I see now what mistakes I've made in your upbringing. I'm... I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I didn't know how to do better."

"I know," Sherlock said, softly. "I know you didn't."

Sherlock turned to Molly, who watched him warily. "Molly Hooper, you are my best friend. And while I am so thankful for the sacrifice you're prepared to make, in order to make me happy, I cannot let you do it. You deserve freedom, just as I do. Surely you understand?"

Molly smiled, sadly, and nodded. "Of course, I do, Sherlock. Of course."

He turned once again to face the crowd. "The Bible says that what I feel is a sin. The law says that I should be put to death. And yet I'm asking you, all of you, as a town - what do your hearts say? Tell me truthfully, because if you cannot find it in your hearts to accept John and I as we are, then we shall leave and never return."

John moved to protest, but Sherlock held up a hand, his eyes connecting with John's.

"Trust me, John." Sherlock said, calmly. "I know what I'm doing and I know what I want."

The muttering grew louder and John wished he'd thought to bring his gun. If he had to fight his way out of a church with Sherlock in tow, he would.

The preacher, who had been hovering, forgotten, stepped forward and laid a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "Folks, I've known Sherlock Holmes for many years. A gentler, more compassionate man couldn't be found if you tried. I know what he's asking goes against your beliefs. It goes against _my_ beliefs. But I also know that the good Lord talks about loving your neighbor. Perhaps... perhaps we could be the first town in the West to embrace that. Perhaps, after all the protection Sheriff Watson has given us as a town, we could protect both of them from outside harm."

Sarah Sawyer stood up then, her voice starting out soft and quavering and then growing louder. "I-I'm sorry, Sheriff Watson, for the gossip I spread about you. It wasn't right. I've hoped to find love my whole life and I let that blind me. But who am I to stand in the way of someone whose found it for themselves?"

One by one, the townspeople stood in agreement, until John found himself being pushed gently towards the front of the church and Sherlock. They were surrounded by smiling people offering congratulations, well wishes, and - occasionally - apologies.

John looked around in wonder, before turning to Sherlock. "W-what just happened?"

Sherlock, smiling, pressed his lips to John's and whirled him around in a hug, causing the crowd around them to laugh, albeit a little uncomfortably. Pulling away, Sherlock said, "You promised me we'd find a way, and we did!"

"But...." John was laughing, breathless, keenly aware they were being watched by the entire congregation. "I still don't understand what just happened!"

Sherlock pulled John to him again, pressing his mouth close to John's ear. "A miracle, John Watson. A real, honest-to-God miracle."

"This is outrageous!" Caroline Hooper cried out, her face red. "Do you all realize how much money this wedding has cost?"

"Oh, mother," Molly piped up, tugging her mother to her seat. "Do be quiet."

****  
  
Epilogue  


Of course it wasn't that easy. Over the days to come, the town of Lockwood still had to adjust. John and Sherlock had to get used to the uncomfortable silences they were met with wherever they went. Or the flinches when strangers saw them holding hands. But slowly, slowly, they were met with acceptance and even friendliness, once the townsfolk became used to the new idea.

Caroline Hooper had to be pacified and convinced to remain silent when she returned to Boston. Mycroft paying her for the cost of the wedding, as well as a little extra for her trouble, helped solve that problem. Though she protested mightily when Molly informed her that she was staying Lockwood. She'd taken a shine to Mycroft's man, Gregory, and stated in no uncertain terms that she planned to live at the ranch until she and Gregory could make a home of their own. They were eyeing the old Moran homestead, in fact. A little work and it would be a proper ranch on its own. Molly told her mother that she fancied herself a rancher's wife and finally, Caroline Hooper acquiesced. 

Even with their struggle to adjust and be accepted, John and Sherlock were ridiculously happy. John made plans - helped by Mycroft, who clearly wanted to make amends - to build a grander cabin on his property. For it was his property - Mycroft gave it to him as a gift. Sherlock helped sketch designs for the cabin and John received several offers of help from some of the men in town. He planned to add large stables to the property, for Sherlock expressed interest in raising horses.

Sherlock continued to teach. Nearly all of his students returned, though Sherlock wasn't sure he'd stay on after he finished out the year. He talked of traveling with John, when they could, and studying more about the flora and fauna of Montana. He even suggested he might use his notebooks to write a book on the subject.

"Whatever your heart desires, love." John said, whenever Sherlock talked of his dreams. "I would fetch the moon for you, if it would make you happy."

Sherlock would blush at this, his cheeks growing pink in the way John always found alluring. "My heart desires _you_ ," Sherlock said.

"Then it's a good thing you have me, isn't it?" John teased, kissing Sherlock and leading him to their bed.

John knew, no matter how many hard days were still to come, that he would be happy the rest of his life, with Sherlock by his side. Together, they could weather any challenge set before them.

This is how the Sheriff of Lockwood, Montana, and a shy schoolteacher came together to change the minds and hearts of a whole town. Through love, they conquered all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I must thank everyone for reading and leaving lovely comments and being so supportive! I didn't know if I could write a Western-themed story when I set out to write this fic, but I had a great deal of fun with it and I hope you all have as well! I hope you'll all forgive me for stretching the boundaries of historical accuracy for the ending I wrote. In the real Wild West, I doubt the ending would have been so happy for John and Sherlock... but in my reality, it must **always** end happily for them. If you enjoyed this work, please recommend it to a friend, leave a comment, or [check out my other works](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hogwartswitch/works) and see if any of them interest you! And, as always, you can find me [on Tumblr as Cleverwholigan](http://cleverwholigan.tumblr.com)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [For He Would Be Thinking of Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4577355) by [BlueArcana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueArcana/pseuds/BlueArcana)




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